


The Man Out of Time

by reactcr



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Dismemberment, Hydra's at it again, M/M, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, POV Steve Rogers, SHIELD, Steve Rogers Feels, SteveTony, Stony - Freeform, Time Travel, Time Travel AU, agent 13 - Freeform, how the fuck do you use a payphone, will add tags as i write more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21539869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reactcr/pseuds/reactcr
Summary: When Steve discovers Hydra's latest invention, time isn't on his side.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 17
Kudos: 81





	1. Chapter 1

“Six o’clock, Cap!” 

The warning spun Steve on the heel of his boots, launching shield straight into another enemy, redirecting their guns’ fire into the space just above his head. The shield continued on, colliding into the chests, backs, shoulders and heads of every soldier within its path, stopping only by the hand of its owner. 

Gloved fingers firmly fastened shield back onto his arm, quick to continue their forward advance. “Keep pushing.” Steve ordered, narrowly avoiding blue energy that struck with a force he hadn’t expected. It tapered off with a hard fizzle, and Steve adjusted his footwork, feeling the beginnings of heat radiating off vibranium.

That wasn’t comforting. 

Two more soldiers aimed for his flank, and Steve wondered if Hydra knew anything about him at  _ all, _ deflecting both energized hits with one singular thrust of his shield. The momentary shock gave Steve easy access, barreling shield-first into both enemies, their heads colliding so roughly into vibranium that Steve had doubts about their recovery. 

Another hundred yards brought the stronghold intro view amongst snow-covered pines, the entrance less guarded than he expected. It was a wonder they’d even  _ found  _ this place, only to realize the muscle behind it’s secrecy  _ extremely _ lacking. 

The fancy guns, however, were a bit of a twist. 

“Bucky, head for high ground. Dugan, cover him.” Steve unholstered his gun, firing two in his direct sights. “The rest of you, with me.” If they played this right, another Hydra base was theirs.    
  


“Don’t take all the stupid with you.” Bucky’s voice rang from behind, turning to watch him pat Dugan on the back and hurry up the snowbank in search for a clear shot. Steve only snorted, leading his team further down the trail where only a few dozen men dared to stop them. 

Between confiscated weapons, an airborne shield and skilled clean shots, nothing but an unguarded entrance remained standing. Steve faced their final obstacle, prying the hard seal open with a loud grunt, the cold groan of metal slowly allowing them entrance. 

They funneled in one at a time, taking careful glances around every dim corner they crossed. Just where was everybody? The heavy pit in Steve’s stomach told him something was  _ wrong, _ but he couldn’t place just what. Still he pressed on, shield taut on arm in preparation for the unknown. 

“Cap,” One of the dimly lit figures whispered, their gun barrel reflecting enough light for Steve to see where they were pointing. The faint glow of light brought Steve’s attention to a dimly lit room, directly at the end of the right hallway. By looks, he could only assume was a lab of some sort. Slowly, Steve raised his shield, footwork nearly undetectable as he led them that way, eyes unwavering and locked onto his goal. 

_ They know we’re here.  _ What was the catch? 

The closer they approached the room unhindered, the more Steve’s suspicions grew. This didn’t make any sense. Hydra hardly ever tucked tail and ran without a fight. 

Still, he continued, until the toes of his boots caught the doorway’s light. 

“So glad you could make it,  _ Captain.” _

Six guns cocked behind him, and Steve held his arm up. He knew  _ exactly _ whose voice that was. “Zemo.” He hoped the irritation in his voice was clear. “This is where you’ve been hiding?” 

“Not hiding,” Came the voice. “Building.” 

Steve stepped through the doorway, the Commandos in tow. A lab was right, but Steve didn’t understand the full extent of  _ how  _ right he was. Every nook and cranny harbored machines Steve had never seen before, tables riddled with unused parts, tools, blueprints. It was something that any man in their right mind would have hidden from the enemy, and yet Zemo seemed to  _ welcome  _ them. 

Steve threw his shield straight for the Baron’s head, only to find the shield bounce off inches before, and hurdle back for his arm.  _ An invisible barrier?  _ He’d only heard Howard Stark  _ dream  _ of those. 

“You’re responsible for those weapons?” Steve kept his tone level, shield defensively raised as he took cautious steps closer, understanding  _ now _ he couldn’t attack just yet. Zemo wasn’t even looking their way, only tinkering with what laid on the desk before him. 

“Prototypes, for a bigger cause.” Steve was itching to punch the Baron’s jaw for such vague explanations, fists tightening in aggravation. Something told him they were important for this  _ bigger cause.  _

“Care to explain?” Steve growled, eyes subtly searching for a device that might disable the barrier. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” Zemo answered, twisting one last screw into its proper place. “You see -- the Skull was blinded by power. But I’m  _ guided  _ by it.” Steve’s jaw tightened, able to hear the sounds of his teammates assembling a formation on each side. They knew all too well something was coming too. 

Steve acted quickly, throwing shield at what looked like a control panel, slicing the metal apart in large eruptions of sparks. It circled around, just as Zemo picked his weapon up, every Commando raising their weaponry as Steve caught his shield. “Not so fast!” One more hefty throw made its mark into the weapons middle -- but the device continued to glow, it’s safety compromised with the damage. 

“No! What have you  _ done?!”  _ Zemo barked, powerless against his own creation.

Its blue morphed into turquoise, firing a beam unlike any others Steve had witnessed outside. This beam was  _ huge, _ covering a radius of nearly half the room, and heading straight for the seven. 

_ “Move!” _ Steve barked, each dodging their respective ways, and Steve did too, skirting to catch his shield as it rounded back, timing it perfectly to deflect the hit---

His shield no more than entered the traction of light, and dissolved. 

_ “Steve!”  _ Bucky’s voice sounded raw, scrambling forward and thrusting arm outwards to grab his friend and  _ pull, _ but the energy caught them quicker. 

Steve’s eyes were wide with shock as the light encompassed him, his best friend’s scream the last thing that filled his ears. 

\---

Cold wetness jolted Steve awake, hand instinctively brushing away the sensation on his cheek. It was dark, cold, and jarring enough to remember his last moments. 

_ Oh god.  _

“Bucky--?” His voice came out thick, hoarse. A rough cough forced him to cover his mouth, the cold, sharp air stinging his lungs. In his movements, Steve felt something on his shoulder, fingers blindly feeling for what it was. 

Relief filled his voice when he felt warm fingers gripping his shoulder. 

“Thank god,” He breathes, glad neither of them had pulled something horribly stupid. They were alive. “Buck--hey,” His eyes were only now beginning to adjust, small rays of light shining from the outside, down onto the lab’s floor. He hadn’t noticed  _ that  _ before. 

When Bucky didn’t answer, Steve slowly turned onto an elbow, hand outstretched with intent to shake his friend awake, but the arm followed grip, still just as tight, and Steve wasn’t picking up Bucky’s outline. 

“Bucky..?” Steve placed his hand atop Bucky’s, slowly sliding his hand down forearm, up past his elbow-- 

His hand met warm wetness just before it dropped to the floor. 

“Oh _ fuck--jesus--” _ Steve ripped the arm out of it’s death grip on his shoulder, stomach threatening to empty it’s contents as the deathly, dull thud filled his ears. 

_ Oh god. Oh no.  _

Bucky’s disembodied arm lay limply against the damp floor, fingers still locked into their last grip on Steve.

“Bucky!?” Steve’s voice strained. Oh no. Oh  _ god.  _ He blindly felt around for Bucky, hoping somewhere in this damned place his friend still lay, but the longer he searched the more his eyes adjusted to a decrepit, empty laboratory. 

No, no. He didn’t  _ understand.  _

Steve fought to catch his breath, panic gripping his chest as he fought to his feet. “Bucky--Dugan-- _ Jones?!”  _ His own voice echoed through the damp chamber, it’s only response a soft ring of vibranium. Steve sharply turned his head, following the noise to the faint outline of his shield, completely intact. 

How was that possible? Steve had seen it  _ disintegrate. _

Slowly he took it in hand, flipping it over to slide on. This didn’t make a lick of sense. “Enough of the games, Zemo.” He shakily called, voice rebounding back to him. 

Nothing but the faint drip of water answered him. 

Steve hissed a breath in between teeth, reluctantly stepping over rubble for the same door he’d come through. “Zemo!” Steve barked, and the walls  _ groaned.  _

What felt like a thousand pounds came crumbling down on top of Steve’s shield, shouting as it tried to bury him. 

The dust settled, and Steve coughed, blinding light pouring in through the newly created hole. With nowhere to go, Steve clambered out of the rockfall and out of the chasm, hand shielding his eyes as they struggled to adjust to the sunlight. 

When he lowered his hand, Steve found around him snow, a long chain of ropes, and about a hundred faces gaping at him, strange rectangular contraptions raised his way in front of their faces. 

What--? Where--? 

Where  _ was  _ he? 


	2. Chapter 2

It didn’t take a genius to understand something was wrong. 

Really wrong. 

The soldier finally snapped out of his shock, taking defensive steps towards the crowd. “Where’s Baron Zemo?” Steve asked, voice hardened as those strange rectangles remained in line with their faces. 

“Sir, I’m afraid you’re not allowed here, this is a historical property.” Steve turned his head to the owner of the thick-accented voice, eyes falling on a pin clasped to the man’s outfit, bearing a name that was undoubtedly German. 

They  _ looked  _ like civilians. Steve had no quarrel with Germany’s people, but his guard stayed high. For all he knew, this could be one big trap. 

“This is an active war zone, you need to clear these people.” Where had they all come from? There wasn’t a town for _miles._ His suspicions only grew. “I’ll ask again. _Where_ is Baron Zemo?” 

The man looked confused -- that made two of them. Finally, Steve’s piercing blues forced an answer. “Baron Zemo’s--been dead for more than seventy years.” 

Seventy  _ years? _

“You don’t understand. This bunker belongs to a Hydra member named Baron Zemo. He has a very dangerous weapon, and all of you are in danger.” 

Still nobody moved, yet murmurs began in the crowd. 

“Sir--” 

“Cap! Cap!” 

Steve’s attention quickly switched to the high-pitched squeak among the crowd, watching as a cluster of people parted for a boy no taller than Steve’s waist. His mother hurried after, but the child was already under the ropes, clinging tightly to the dirtied fabric of Steve’s pants. 

“Oh--uh,” Steve refrained from placing the still partially bloodied glove on the kid, blinking down as two round eyes sparkled up at him. Just what was going on here? They brought  _ children  _ into active combat zones now too? 

As Steve processed his thoughts, the mother fought her way underneath ropes, grabbing the boy by each side with frantic apologies. She hurriedly tried to pry her child off of the dumbfounded soldier, finally managing her protesting son away from Steve’s leg. In any other circumstance Steve would have smiled, pat the kid on the head and thought nothing of it, but Steve had just climbed his way out of an enemy bunker, out into what he  _ knew  _ was a snow-covered forest littered with fallen Hydra soldiers. 

He stayed silent, just as confused as every other face staring him down. Steve swallowed, eyes lowering to to the boy’s coat, the same red white and blue shield Steve now carried in his hand proudly sewed onto the shoulder. 

_ None of this made any sense. _

Bucky, the Commandos, Zemo, hell -- the  _ forest  _ was even different, larger and fewer trees across the snowy expanse. And that certainly didn’t account for the bunker that was so crumbled apart, it nearly crushed him to death. 

After what felt like an eternity, Steve inhaled. Blue eyes turned back towards the first man, brows tightly knit. “What happened here?” 

\---

Steve ran the instructions in his head a third time. It wasn’t because he’d forget (Steve positively was unable to), but because it distracted him from the voices whispering around him on the very large, very  _ loud  _ bus. He supposed it wasn’t every day they saw a fully outfitted and American-themed War World II soldier. 

It also wasn’t every day Steve saw a machine like  _ this. _

Even with the man’s (a tour guide, he’d found out) explanation, he  _ knew  _ this had to be a dream. A hallucination Zemo’s gun had caused from head trauma. He was in the hospital, getting looked over now for internal damage, that was all. 

Steve waited his turn to step off the bus, following the next instruction with a guess of which direction to start. Left seemed a good choice as any, mindful to keep his shield stowed on his back. The longer he walked, the more of those rectangular devices kept showing up. In people’s hands, up to their ears -- even a few kids were holding them. What  _ were  _ they? 

Steve was sure those were the  _ least  _ of his concerns, with how different this town was from any he’d ever seen. The roads, the sidewalks, hell, the buildings were all  _ different.  _ Even people’s outfits weren’t the norm. Maybe that was part of the reason he turned so many heads. 

_ Or, maybe it’s because you’re Germany’s sworn enemy. _ Steve tried to ignore that thought for now. 

_ There _ \-- Steve nearly bolted for the singular payphone, hoping nobody would snag it before he did. To Steve’s surprise, nobody even _ tried _ to approach it. Frantic fingers patted down his uniform, hoping to god he still held some change--

His eyes locked onto the price.  _ One euro _ . Steve’s jaw dropped. 

What the  _ fuck  _ was a Euro? 

“Ma’am, ma’am--” Steve quickly tried to flag down a passerby, urgency gripping his voice. When he caught her attention, Steve pointed a gloved finger to the indicated price, hoping to god he could get this across. “Do you uh--I need one of these.” He reached down into his pocket, pulling out what summed up to be fifteen cents. He had no  _ clue  _ what a euro amounted to in dollars, but it was all he had. “Please. Can I trade you?” The desperation in his voice at least held the woman’s attention (and the outfit certainly didn’t hurt), but he wasn’t quite sure if she understood what he was saying. 

After the longest five seconds of Steve’s life, she pulled out a small bag from her larger one, unzipped the top, and pulled out a coin. Steve wasn’t sure  _ what  _ that was, but he hoped to god it was what he needed. She placed the coin in Steve’s palm, who began to hand her his money in exchange, but she shook her head. “Keep it.” 

Steve’s fingers curled around the coins, blue eyes falling on hers. “Thank you.” He was sure his money wouldn’t do her good anyways, but Steve was grateful all the same. They exchanged smiles, and before long, Steve was grabbing the phone, dropping the coin into the slot, and carefully entering in a number to get through with a provider. 

The phone rang twice before a voice answered. 

_ “I’m sorry, this service doesn’t allow public calls.”  _

Steve grimaced. “Wait, wait -- please--” 

_ “Have a nice day--” _ Steve was  _ not  _ taking another strangers money. 

“Wonderful weather this morning, isn’t it?” Steve blurted. 

The voice on the other side of the receiver paused. Steve swore he could hear faint murmurs. 

Finally, they spoke, slow and monotonous as if they were reading the words on paper.  _ “Yes, but I always carry an umbrella.”  _

Steve slumped into the payphone, resting helmet gently against the side. Thank  _ god.  _

“There’s been a problem.” Steve knew better than to relay too much information over a public phone, especially  _ here.  _ “Who and where can I meet someone?” 

_ “Number?” _

Steve huffed a breath. “SGR-071911.” 

The receiver fell silent again, presumably as they confirmed his ID. 

_ “Thank you. Instructions will follow.” _ The line clicked. 

“Wait--” Steve gripped the phone, pulling it away from his ear. “Shit.” How the hell did they expect to do that? They’d just  _ hung up  _ on him. 

Angry, he slammed the phone into its slot, running through a mental list of his options. No money meant no more calls, no taxis, no trains. No money meant  _ Steve had no way out of here.  _ That phone call had been his one and only chance to communicate to someone who could  _ help, _ and they’d hung up. 

He was so caught up in his current dilemma that he failed to notice two figures approach him from behind. 

“Captain Rogers?” 

Broad shoulders hastily turned, confusion swimming in Steve’s eyes as he carefully looked them over. “Who’s asking?” He finally spoke.

The man outstretched his hand, clean suit cuffs sliding off his wrist. “Agent Coulson of SHIELD.” Steve’s eyes dropped to the hand, hesitantly meeting his grip. “This is Special Agent Thirteen.” Blues raised to the blonde, the beginnings of a smile relaxed on her face.

“It’s good to have you back, Captain. We have a lot to discuss.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> super excited for this one guys! love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

He’d politely, but firmly been told to hold any questions until they reached a more secure site. 

It took them no time at all to reach wherever that secure site _was,_ once Steve had been ushered into a sleek, black car with windows that barred him from peering inside. The only reason Steve _had_ any reason to follow them, was the confirmation of his ID, certain they hadn’t been nearby when he’d spoken it before. 

Other than that — Steve had no clue what SHIELD was, or how they gained control over that number. 

Steve opened his mouth, about to comment on the lack of people in passing when the car pulled into a tight alleyway and slowed to a stop. Watching Coulson round the car, he thanked him as he opened the door, carefully ducking out of the car’s low seating. 

“You must be very confused.” Steve grabbed his shield out of the floor, eyes raised to Coulson in a sigh.

“Yeah, you could say that.” 

A tight smile thinned Coulson’s lips. “That makes two of us.” Steve watched as the agent stepped for an old alley door, pulling a card from his pocket. It was thin, blue -- and _see-through,_ of all things. One quick wave across a black strip tumbled loud locks and unlatched the heavy door from inside. “Right this way, please.” 

Blue eyes caught the subtle movement of the other agent behind him, leading him to believe he had no say in the matter. 

But if this meant he’d get answers, so be it. 

“I’d say you lucked out with that phone call -- but something tells us that was no coincidence.” Coulson began, sliding shades into his breast pocket. Steve followed -- he felt more _ushered_ \-- down a narrow hallway, squinting as the bright lights illuminated their way overhead. 

“Coincidence how?” Steve queried, still uncertain how _much_ he could trust these two. 

“We’re US-based.” The woman spoke. Steve briefly turned to make eye contact. “Some of us were deployed here to inspect strange energy spikes.” 

“To Germany?” Steve clarified, eyebrows raising in his very obvious disbelief. 

A faint smile could be heard in her voice. “We’re on good terms.” She answered, which only made Steve’s confusion _worse._

“I don’t see your point.” Steve murmured, noting every branch and corridor they passed. Just in case. 

Coulson turned them down another hallway, and down a rather steep flight of stairs. “Captain, we believe _you_ are the anomaly.” Steve ducked his head the whole way down, shoulders brushing against the narrow walls. 

Him? An _anomaly?_

“The _anomaly_ you’re looking for is five miles due North.” Steve corrected. “Baron Zemo is who you want. What _I_ want to know is where this town came from. Where my platoon is.” Zemo _must_ have relocated them. 

As for the town; Steve couldn’t _find_ a reason. 

Coulson waved the same transparent badge across another strip, and pulled the door open, motioning both Steve and Agent Thirteen forward. “That’s another thing we’re here to discuss.” 

The door shut with an echo, lights dimly illuminating the small space. Steve slowly stepped forward, eyes glossing over three large, black boxes that hung flush to the wall, just above a table. “What is this?” His tone remained firm, expectant of an answer as both ushered themselves forward. 

“The answer to your questions, hopefully.” Agent Thirteen answered, pressing fingers against what Steve could only compare to a typewriter; numbers and letters all in rows. 

Dirtied boots carried him forward, briefly catching his reflection muted in black. What happened next he wouldn’t dare call magic, but every box seemed to spring to life, bright light emitting from all three screens. The sudden change physically startled Steve, eyebrows furrowing as words, pictures, and even _films_ manifested on these-- _things_. 

And the agent seemed to control them all with a touch of her _finger._

He couldn’t stop himself; before he knew it his finger extended, prodding curiously at the white, glowing screen. “What _are_ these?” Steve asked, captivated by the ethereal glow. Something told him they didn’t appreciate him touching their equipment, but Steve had positively never seen anything _like_ it. 

“Computers,” Coulson simply replied, helping the second agent pull up what they needed on the -- _computers._ “We rely heavily on them now.” 

“Now?” 

A certain file in particular pulled Steve closer, blue eyes falling on the relaxed soldier’s smile. 

_Bucky._

Six more files appeared; the rest of the Howling Commandos. 

“Where did you get these?” These were classified documents, _personal,_ documents, and it made no sense for an agency to have them. The room remained quiet, both agents exchanging looks behind the soldier’s back as he scoured their files. 

Steve opened his mouth to ask again when his eyes fell upon words that stole his breath.

**TIMOTHY "DUM DUM" DUGAN: DECEASED**

**GABRIEL "GABE" JONES: DECEASED**

What? 

**JAMES FALSWORTH: DECEASED**

**JIM MORTIA: DECEASED**

No.

**JACQUES DERNIER: DECEASED**

This wasn’t right. 

**JAMES BUCHANAN "BUCKY" BARNES: MISSING IN ACTION**

The table groaned, unaware how tightly his fingers gripped the table. No. This was a mistake. Frantically he searched through the files, hoping something, _anything_ further would nullify the bold red letters that tried to tell Steve his team was _dead._

That Bucky was _missing._

He hardly heard Agent Thirteen’s voice past the deafening hammer of his heart, voice muffled and unintelligible as if she were behind glass. 

“There’s been a mistake.” Steve’s own voice couldn’t cut through the muted sensation. His chest tightened, feeling as if someone had pressed their entire force against it -- but neither agent moved so much as a finger. No -- no. Something was _wrong._ From the moment the soldier had woken in the bunker he knew things weren’t right, but now-- 

He was scared. 

It was a rush of adrenaline that pried his fingers from the indented table, that made him swipe his shield out from its holster. Steve didn’t know who these people were -- but he was beginning to think they weren’t on his side, raising his shield when both drew their firearms. 

Agent Thirteen trained her gun, expression firm. “Captain Rogers, lower your shield.” His ears were slowly regaining their hearing, enough to realize he was heaving breaths. 

“We’re here to help you, Captain.” Steve’s blues cut through Coulson like glass, struggling to front a defensive glare when his body began to tremble. 

“These are lies. I saw my team _hours ago.”_ He growled, dividing his attention as best as possible. “Start talking.” He could be out of that door in seconds, fancy locks or not. Both held their positions, while Coulson strained a sigh. 

“There’s something else.” He started, carefully removing a hand off his gun, and down to the keyboard. Steve watched as another file pulled up, one more recognizable than any of the others. 

_His_ file. 

Steve didn’t dare lower his guard, shield raised high. 

“Read it.” Coulson insisted. Steve didn’t trust them, not one bit, but the tension in his shoulders eased as Coulson lowered his gun, Thirteen hesitantly following. 

Cautiously, Steve proceeded forward, eyes scouring the file before they settled on one horribly distinctive line. 

**STEVEN GRANT ROGERS: DECEASED**

Steve’s face paled; the helmet still fastened on his head hid the last ounce of togetherness he had. 

“I don’t understand.” Steve’s voice wavered. How could _he_ be **_dead?_ ** “Why does this and _every other file_ claim my team and I are either dead or missing?”

“We were hoping you could provide insight.” Coulson’s weapon stayed lowered, but Steve wasn’t quite ready to drop the shield. “We have evidence of every termination listed. Barnes is a cold case -- but you, Captain Rogers, are very much alive. And we’d like to know how.” 

No, no. He wasn’t ready to move on from Coulson’s dismissive words. “You expect me to believe all this?” 

“We’re offering you the truth.” Thirteen replied. “Dugan and Mortia were KIA. The rest retired and died of natural causes.” Her words were the cherry on top of the fucking cake he’d had today. 

“I _saw_ them six hours ago.” Steve repeated, just barely keeping the growl out of his voice. 

Coulson clicked a button on the keyboard, retracting the files back into nothingness. “Maybe you did, Captain. But nobody else has seen or heard from _you_ for nearly seventy years.” 

“Seventy--” That tour guide told him Zemo had been dead for that long. 

Steve scoffed. “Are you--trying to tell me, I’m in the wrong _time?”_ He sounded ridiculous verbalizing the elephant in the room. Time travel was only an idea, it was _impossible,_ wasn’t it? After all, he’d even witnessed Howard Stark furrow his brows at the mention of something so fictitious. 

But neither agent looked like his question was even _remotely_ crazy. 

“The anomaly we’re investigating, its coordinates resonate about five miles North.” Thirteen explained. Steve swallowed.

“Zemo’s bunker.” Both nodded. 

No, this -- this wasn’t right. Wasn’t-- _possible._

“Official reports of the Howling Commandos read Zemo’s weapon completely engulfed you, that shield, and Barnes’ left arm.” Steve's eyes widened behind his helmet, blues dropping down to the shield in his arm. 

He hadn’t said a _word_ about the severed arm -- _Bucky’s_ severed arm. Steve stumbled a step back, sickness rising in his throat. 

“I---damaged the weapon just before it fired,” Steve spoke quietly, eyes still glued to the metallic rim of his shield. “Whatever happened --” He forced down the hot feeling rising in his throat, daring to meet the eyes of both agents. “You said seventy years --” Steve swallowed the last of his reserve, and came right out with it. 

“What year is it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy late thanksgiving to those who celebrate!


	4. Chapter 4

Steve breathed through his nose, brushing fingers through extremely ravaged helmet hair. 

The year two-thousand and nine-fucking-teen. 

Just a year over his hundredth birthday. 

They’d told him the ride back to the US would give him time to think, but Steve spent the first half-hour trying to understand how  _ different  _ this jet was from any plane model he’d ever seen. 

“Our best analysts are working on it.” Coulson had told him. “You could be the key to help us figure out how to reverse this process.” 

Steve finally learned what SHIELD was too. Knowing Peggy was one of  _ the  _ founding members eased many of his doubts, but it didn’t hurt any less when they’d told him she’d returned to England, now resting peacefully six feet under her hometown. 

He had to work through a  _ lot  _ of things way too quickly. 

It was safe to say life as he knew it, was gone. Every person he’d interacted with dead, dying or missing. 

After they landed, Steve was escorted through what felt like a  _ dream.  _ Lights flashing, buildings  _ towering, thousands  _ of people walking, and a rainbow assortment of cars, all piled bumper to bumper in honking traffic. 

New York City in its present, he’d discovered. 

Finally, they settled him in a room. It was small but tidy, with every necessity available to Steve. There was even one of those  _ computers  _ hung on the wall across from his bed, wondering if they’d mind if he messed around with it later. 

Steve rubbed a hand across his cheek, watching the grime smear in the mirror. His hair twisted in multiple directions, an indicator Steve could go nowhere until he cleaned himself up, exactly why he’d peeled clothes off and headed straight for the bathroom. Neatly folded clothes sat on the counter before him, picking them up with a soft, hollow sigh. 

If this would get him back to his proper time, well, what did he have to lose? 

That might have been the longest shower Steve had  _ ever _ taken. He kept  _ waiting  _ for the water to turn cold, but it never did, so Steve took full advantage, soaking sore muscles and running soap thoroughly across every inch of his body. It was an ounce of normalcy that allowed Steve’s shoulders and jaw to slack, even if only for a little. 

When it came time to leave, Steve slid on the trousers, and pulled the shirt over his head, finding it about one size too small, hugging everything a  _ little  _ too closely. Not his idea of an outfit, but it was this or his bloodstained suit, still caked with four layers of dirt. 

He fixed the part of his hair and stepped out of the door, two agents waiting to escort him to -- 

Well, Steve didn’t exactly know  _ where. _

But it sure did take a while. Two long hallways, one extremely translucent elevator, and Steve found himself led into a conference room, with more than a dozen unfamiliar faces (that was Steve’s normal now, trapped in a time of strangers).

Every person stood when Steve entered, at least he thought until lack of movement from one chair caught his eye. 

Before he could so much as form a thought on the matter, Steve was ushered in, skin prickling in the discomfort of several eyes following him to the single empty seat. 

“Captain Rogers,” Coulson pulled Steve’s attention to the front of the room, adjusting uncomfortably in his seat.” these are our greatest team of scientists, analysts, as well as a few consultants we’ve brought from beyond SHIELD.” Steve dipped his head in recognition, eyes briefly flicking to each and every face around the room. 

One face in particular caught his eye, because -- well, the man was about the only person in the room that didn’t have their eyes glued to him. He supposed that made him a hypocrite, eyes quickly returning to Coulson when hazel eyes side-eyed him, sure he knew Steve had been staring. 

“All of the information you disclose to us is entirely confidential; none of it leaves this room.” 

Steve nodded, straightening in his chair with crossed arms. “I’ll do what I can to help.” If they could find a way to reverse the energy signature -- maybe they could find a way to send him home, to the time period he  _ belonged  _ to. 

“What can you tell us about Baron Zemo’s weapon?” One of the men around the table asked, eyes curiously settling on the soldier. He had a hunch SHIELD held files on Hydra’s weaponry, but Steve was a direct source; one with perfect recall. 

Steve cleared his throat. “Between Red Skull and Baron Zemo, dangerous weapons were created with the help of the Tesseract.” Steve began, watching as each person listened carefully. “These weapons were able to seemingly disintegrate anything they touched, including people.” Blue eyes briefly scanned the curious faces, all looking at him this time -- including the hazel-eyed man, elbow leaned rather casually against the table. 

“Zemo’s newest weapon undoubtedly involved the Tesseract.” Steve continued. “I only got a brief look. I damaged the barrel and caused the beam to lose its aim.” By the looks on their faces, Steve could tell this was news -- not  _ much  _ news, but information nonetheless. “My shield went into the crossfire, and disappeared. A teammate tried to assist me,” Steve grit his jaw, pushing down the emotion that came with his words. “but the beam came first.” Slowly his arms squeezed across his chest, breathing out a steady breath. “That’s all I remember.” 

Several attendees began to scribble notes, others talking in low murmurs. The man to Steve’s left, the one who looked as if he were ready for a nap, simply kept his head rested in the palm of his hand. 

“Teleported. Not disintegrated.” He said. Every head -- including Steve’s -- turned to him. 

One of the others piped up. “Care to elaborate, Stark?” 

_ Stark? _

The brunette pulled his chair closer. “Uncle Sam here’s living proof.” Steve scrunched his nose, eyes settling on the calloused fingers lazily motioning in his direction. “Only hiccup is the little time hop he pulled.” 

“Hell of a hiccup.” Soft laughter rippled across the table, but the man—Stark’s expression didn’t budge. 

“You bunch have studied that cube for — how many decades? It does what again?” Stark feigned deep thought. “That’s right—it teleports.” 

Now surely there were multiple families with the last name Stark, but how many of them held enough status to be placed in a panel full of SHIELD authorities? 

All niceties were forgotten; Steve’s eyes were dead set on the guy. 

“If you’re so  _ sure,  _ why don’t you explain how he’s here.” 

Stark cleared his throat, fingers stroking the ends of finely trimmed stubble. “Here’s an idea. Compare energy signatures -- find the irregularity, then we’ll talk.” The others around the table gave unkind, exasperated looks, but none argued his point. So, he smiled, eyes crinkling upwards in the fakest smile Steve had ever seen. 

“That’s enough Stark.” Coulson was neither irritated or unkind, but Steve hadn’t found he outwardly expressed his emotions. Suppose that made him an effective agent. 

Steve’s eyes finally found their way to a neutral, empty space as Stark leaned back in his chair. 

The rest of the meeting went as expected, answering and clarifying where he could. It made for a long, awkward assembly, but helping them helped him -- or so he hoped. Still, Steve hadn’t been able to help steal infrequent glances of Stark, watching his mannerisms, gauging his reactions to others when they spoke (most of them were answered with a melodramatic eye roll, or a slow, disapproving sigh). 

There was no doubt in Steve’s mind; this was Howard’s kin. 

Coulson dismissed the meeting after what felt like ages, the majority of the attendees scuffling their way out to finish what Steve was sure was the rest of a busy day, but a couple took their time, Stark included, which led him to believe he wasn’t directly involved in SHIELD. 

“The agents outside can escort you to your living quarters,” Coulson said, rounding the table after collecting his own files from the tabletop. 

A smile made its way across Steve’s lips, slowly standing from his chair. “Thanks, but I remember the way.” He politely declined, his attention mostly still fixated on who was still left. That being -- mainly Stark. 

Coulson nodded. “Let us know if you need anything.” He said, quietly taking his leave.

With the other paying no mind to the other two in the room, Steve made his move, rounding the large table with a hand outstretched. “Rogers, Steve Rogers.” The soldier introduced, hazel eyes slowly falling down to his hand. A firm hand clasped his, shaking it with a professional demeanor Steve was all too used to feeling. 

“Tony.” The man replied, hazel eyes more or less taking in every square inch of Steve. He tried not to think too much into it. “Lemme guess. Name caught your ear.” Steve nodded, and Tony smiled -- not as fake as the last one, but certainly not genuine. 

Their hands parted, and Tony used his to slide on a pair of -- interesting shades. “Howard Stark was a friend of mine.” It didn’t feel  _ right,  _ using the past-tense, but enough crazy looks had been tossed his way; he didn’t need more reasons for those. “After the name, it wasn’t hard to tell you two are related.” He didn’t mean that in any particular way, but this guy seemed like a chip off the old block. Witty, egotistic, and smart. 

Steve wasn’t ashamed to inwardly admit Tony was undoubtedly attractive, too. 

“Had the pleasure of calling him dad.” Tony sniffed. Steve’s brows furrowed; surely that hadn’t been sarcasm? “He told me all about you. If my memory was as good as he says yours is, I’d write a  _ book.”  _

Steve shook his head slightly. “Sorry--he’s your father? I thought this was 2019.” This guy didn’t look anywhere near  _ old.  _

“Got a bit of a late start. Settled older than most people. And--I’ll take that as a compliment.” Tony added, slowly starting around the table. Steve loosely followed; intrigued. 

“You’re not part of SHIELD?” Steve asked, a lazy look over prefacing an answer. 

“I’m not interested in being a plaything.” He simply answered. “The only orders I take around here are from myself--on a good day.” Surely he held some leverage over the organization -- his father had been a founding _ member. _ But Steve held his tongue at the clearly dismissive tone, even if he  _ was _ still trailing the man. 

“You’re an outside consultant.” Steve concluded, carefully rolling an askew chair back under the table in passing. 

“Even SHIELD knows when they’re outwitted.” Tony briefly paused in his gait, hazel eyes running up the length of Steve again -- but this time he could tell his eyes caught on the tight fabric across his chest. “Plus, nobody’s passing up an opportunity to see a living legend -- and  _ how  _ they’re still living.” 

Steve snorted. “I’m just a soldier.” A soldier with what had to be the unluckiest day of his life. 

“Uh, tell that to the rest of the world.” Steve’s eyebrows furrowed, puzzled, but figured it wasn’t worth it to ask. “I’d avoid wearing anything red, white  _ or  _ blue if you venture out. You’re officially SHIELD’s biggest secret.” Steve huffed, but if Tony was on the outside of their operations, he assumed he was only trying to help. 

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Steve realized only as Tony was nearing the doors that he didn’t  _ want  _ him to leave; he was more or less, someone who could provide Steve an ounce of normalcy in such a foreign place. “You’ll be back -- working on this operation?” Relief fell upon the soldier when Tony dipped his head, pausing just before the door sensors. 

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Tony winked, and Steve only blinked, not sure how to react to such a demeanor. “Take it easy, Spangles.” 

Steve stumbled for words as the doors slid open, silently escorting Tony out of the room. 

“You too.” 

\---

“Tell me about Stark.” 

Thirteen -- Sharon, as he’d later been told, paused with her fork halfway to her mouth. Slowly, she sat her fork back down to think about her answer. “He’s eccentric. Doesn’t like to play with others.” 

“That much I know.” Steve answered, poking around his own food, avoiding the stares of countless other agents in the cafeteria. “What does he do?” 

“He’s CEO of his father’s company. They switched from weapons manufacturing to technology advancements about a decade ago.” 

Steve frowned. “That’s a big switch.” 

Sharon silently worked through her bite before continuing. “A terrorist group kidnapped and tortured him for a few months. He made the decision after he was rescued.” To Sharon he was sure this was all old news, things she’d read in his files, but Steve was appalled. “Wouldn’t think that looking at him, right?” Sharon voiced Steve’s thoughts. 

He nodded, idly twirling fork between fingers. “So -- he helps SHIELD.” 

“Sometimes,” Sharon answered, pausing for another bite. Steve didn’t mean to take up her time with questions, but he’d been wondering about Tony for three days now. “He doesn’t trust most of what we do, but he’ll give advice for certain situations. Plus, he’s designed a good portion of our security and servers.” She explained, the look on Steve’s face prompting her to continue. “The systems all of our computers and devices run on.” 

“Sounds like a busy man.” 

Sharon sipped on her water, eyes locked with Steve’s as she set it down. “He sure jumped on this issue fast. Guess I can’t blame him, you  _ are _ a pretty special case.” She smiled, nose scrunching as Steve simply cleared his throat. 

“I’d like to be out of your hair as soon as possible.” Steve assured, frustrated this was a problem in the first place, but more than relieved there were multiple people who were willing to help correct the problem. 

Sharon smiled, more genuine than any of Tony’s. “We’ll do our best. I’m sure Stark will too -- even if half of us are convinced he’s using it as reasoning to study the Tesseract.” 

Steve snorted, able to tell already that Tony was a scientist, same as his father. “If he were still in weapons’ manufacturing, I’d have more reason to be worried.” He murmured, hoping neither he or SHIELD were looking to recreate the monstrosity of Hydra’s weaponry -- but Tony seemed less likely, especially since his theory was strongly set on the weapons teleporting objects. As long as they didn’t ask suspicious questions, Steve would give them both the benefit of the doubt. It was -- all he had, really. 

Slowly he picked at his food, far behind Sharon’s pacing -- but he wasn’t on the clock like she was. “If it makes you feel any better,” Sharon said, picking the last bite of food off her plate, “Stark has a technology we’ve been wanting for years. Less volatile, and much safer than the Tesseract.” 

“What’s that?” Sounded like another reason for Tony’s refusal of SHIELD. 

Sharon stood from her spot, collecting her things. “It’s called the arc reactor. He had it covered the other day, but I’m sure you’ll catch a glimpse sooner or later.” She said, tapping her sternum. 

“It’s right here. In his chest.” She could tell Steve didn’t understand, so she smirked, pushing her chair in. “Go figure out that computer in your room. Look it up if you’re interested.” 

“Uh,” Steve wasn’t sure what she meant exactly, but-- “I’ll -- see what I can do.” He waved Thirteen goodbye, the rest of the agents all gathering their scraps too, which meant it had to be nearing the end of lunch. 

_ In his chest?  _ What did that mean? 

He hoped it wasn’t another slang term he had to learn; he’d already come across too many of those (and found many of his slang terms didn’t work anymore, too). 

With less noise around him, Steve ate his meal with full intentions to return to his room and tinker with that computer, eager to both understand how it worked, and what it could do in terms of searching more on Tony and his arc reactor. 

Tony, Tony, Tony. 

He hadn’t spoken with him for more than two minutes, so why was he so dead set on this guy? 

He was just  _ a guy. _ A guy that  _ happened _ to be working on getting him back to his proper time. 

This was just background checking -- nothing more than routine. 

That was it. 


	5. Chapter 5

The internet was the niftiest thing Steve had ever seen. 

It took half an hour smoothing out the basic functions, but once Steve found the search engine, he was entertained for _hours._

It was the world’s biggest library, all at the tip of his finger. 

Naturally, he started with his first inquiry -- Tony Stark. The sheer number of results astounded Steve, resorting to picking and choosing which titles appealed the most, and which images seemed the most realistic (there were more than a handful of cartoons of Tony, how interesting). 

Just like Sharon said, smack dab in the middle of his chest held an odd, glowing light, peeking out from several pictures. 

He might have lingered on some pictures longer than others, admiring how photogenic Tony was. He supposed he _had_ to be, growing up in the line of cameras (a previous article had told Steve just how much attention had always been on the Stark family). 

His quest to learn more led him on an endless search, results from Tony bleeding into Howard, and those into weaponry -- which ultimately led him to World War II. The internet had damn near everything, but unfortunately, not all of it was good. 

Bucky had disappeared not two months after the incident with Zemo. Hydra ran as an organization for _years_ after, in fact -- Steve couldn’t find an official disbanded date. A Zemo heir still lived, hopefully not under his lineages’ ideals. 

Part of him thought it wrong to know this information. When he went back -- would he change history by simply knowing when and where things happened, if he acted on them? What if he could prevent Bucky from going missing? Steve didn’t know a damn thing about _time travel,_ but as a rule for daily living, the butterfly effect seemed painfully real. 

He tried not to think into it; SHIELD would work around adverse effects. That was what they _did._ Steve had to trust that much. 

He scoured the internet for three weeks, learning more, seeing more, and finally realizing just how much the world really _had_ changed in seventy years. 

As his first month in the future approached, Steve was confident he was better prepared in this era than when he had stumbled out of the abandoned bunker. 

Really, the only thing he absolutely _wasn’t_ prepared for was the odd sensation that pricked his cheeks and filled his chest each and every time Tony and he shared conversation.

“I hear you’re an artist.” Steve was alone with Tony today, given time to discuss details that might further their study. He figured SHIELD recorded their session anyway, but one-on-one conversations felt much more natural, even if Tony’s were always a little out of the norm. 

Steve shrugged, mindlessly turning pages in a SHIELD handbook. “Yeah. More of a hobby.” He answered, eyes watching as Tony swiped hands across holograms, still mesmerized by their existence. 

Tony hummed. “Not to be weird,” Hazel eyes slowly pulled themselves off of the holograms, meeting blues waiting in question. “--my dad kept your sketchbook. Grabbed it before the government seized everything to your name.” Tony nudged his head for the bag Steve had seen him carry in earlier -- finding it odd that he had, considering he always traveled light. “Take it.” 

He stood from his chair, heading for the bag as he _processed_ the full meaning of Tony’s words. A heavy sense of nostalgia warmed Steve’s soul as his fingers brought out a book, dirtied and weathered with time, but bound strongly as ever. He smiled, carefully unwrapping the rope that held it closed, fingers gently thumbing through yellowed pages of drawings. To him, they were four, five years at their oldest, but Steve knew better by now. 

Steve carefully rewrapped the book closed, turning to Tony, who wasn’t looking now but had sneaked a tiny glance over while the soldier reunited with his old belongings. “Thank you, Tony.” He murmured softly, voice soft with sincerity. This meant -- more than he could express. A month in the future hadn’t been easy, but little conversations with Tony, Sharon and his newest friend Natasha had made it bearable. And Tony going out of his way to find something that belonged to Steve... 

Well, it was extremely thoughtful. 

Tony simply nodded, eyes landing on Steve’s with a smirk. “Don’t tell him I gave it away.” Steve laughed, _actually_ laughed, setting the book down in front of his spot. 

“My lips are sealed.” Steve returned the smirk, taking a spot beside Tony to better see what he was doing. “Don’t suppose you draw,” Steve said, eyes drifting across the amalgamations of numbers, figures and equations that made absolutely zero sense to him. 

“Sometimes,” Tony answered. “Comes in handy making designs.” 

“Like that?” Steve dipped his head towards the faint glow underneath Tony’s shirt, still curious even if he had done his research online. Tony followed his eyes, mindlessly brushing fingers across his shirt with a soft snort. 

“Like that.” Tony mirrored. “Took you long enough to ask.” He said, lightly nudging the soldier beside him, who gave a quiet snort. “You’ve only been staring at it for a month.” 

“Staring’s a bit of an overstatement.” Steve countered, eyebrow playfully cocked. “Besides--most people don’t have an orb in their chest.” 

Tony snorted. “Most people don’t jump through _time_ either.” Right or not, Tony still had an elbow lightly nudged into his side, feigning his offense with a scrunched expression. Steve only smirked, backing off enough to keep out of Tony’s personal space, something important he’d learned very quickly. 

“Suppose neither one of us asked for it, either.” Steve said, catching the quiet scoff that left Tony. 

“Speak for yourself. I was first in line for crazy human experimentation.” Steve laughed again, rolling his eyes in a step away from the oddball. 

“You sure make it look good,” Before Steve could properly form a thought on how that might have sounded to Tony, the guy’s head turned, eyebrow quizzically cocked. “I meant--” 

“Oh, I know exactly what you meant.” Tony grinned. 

Steve swore his face burned a degree higher, nervously chuckling to avoid more stupid slip-ups. “Great. Glad we settled that.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, enough to have Tony lightly giggling. He could think what he wanted -- the latter meaning a compliment to his wardrobe, but Steve wouldn’t dare feed his ego further. 

Instead, he quickly pushed Tony’s attention _away_ from embarrassing him. “Any recent breakthroughs?” 

Thankfully, Tony took the bait. “Isolated the anomaly. We’re dealing space-time and just about every other quantum theory.” Tony knew that meant absolutely nothing to Steve, so he continued. “Long story short -- it’ll be awhile. What Zemo did was on complete accident. Recreating that accident could take months -- years.” 

Steve’s heart sank at the timeline, understanding this process was a long one, but -- _years?_

This was the first he was hearing of it. 

“Nobody understands time travel. Not really.” Tony’s look was slightly softened; surely it was some sort of pity. “You _managed_ it and we still don’t know.” He raised a finger, meeting Steve’s dejected eyes. “--Not yet.” 

The optimism was appreciated, even if Steve’s standards had quickly lowered with the hard truth. SHIELD hadn’t even tried to be blunt; they’d told him he’d be home in no time. At least _someone_ was realistic in their explanations, even if it hurt to hear. Steve sighed, nodding softly. “From what I’ve seen, if anyone can figure it out, it’s you.” 

Tony cocked an eyebrow, soft, pink lips thinning in a smirk. “Finally, someone with sense.” Steve rolled his eyes, trying his damnedest to keep the smile out of his expression. 

“I’m just _saying,_ SHIELD’s team can hardly agree on what to do. They spend half their time disagreeing when you’ve already gotten--” Steve furrowed his brows, motioning to the jumbled screen. _“--that_ done.” 

Tony simply pat Steve on the back. “Bet my refusal makes more sense every day.” The soldier nodded, oddly enjoying the simple touch. “Thanks, Cap.” 

“Consider it thanks for the sketchbook.” From the first day on, Steve was glad to have Tony part of this whole thing. An opinion beyond SHIELD was good to have (it was good to have outside opinions on lots of things, really), especially when it was as important as _time travel._ He appreciated Tony’s drive, and he was damn glad he’d been more or less easy to talk to, even if he _did_ say some strange things. 

Steve backed off of Tony’s workspace, checking the time on the room’s clock. Nearly time for lunch. His mouth opened, about to suggest a break--

“How’s a burger sound?” 

It took a minute for Steve to realize -- wait, the cafeteria wasn’t serving burgers...oh, Tony wanted to go somewhere _else._ He cleared his throat, carefully taking the old book in his hand, not daring to leave it out where somebody could swipe it. “Sounds great.” He answered with a smile, finding Tony’s eyes on him when he finally turned around. “Fair warning,” Steve began, a bashful grin on his face, “--I’m kinda broke.”

“Lucky you,” Tony smirked. “I’m not.”

\---

Lunch with Tony was, nice. 

Not only was it the first time Steve had gone out with intentions to do more than sightsee, but it was the first time somebody had asked him out for lunch in, 

Well--more than seventy years. 

Even when he was in his _proper_ time, outings like these were rare, if even possible. He had been so busy tracing Hydra’s footsteps and eliminating bases that any free time Steve had was spent sleeping or working tactics with his team. 

Now all Steve had was a weathered sketchbook, and time to kill. Why not spend it with somebody who for the most part enjoyed talking with him? 

They talked on the way, while they waited for their food (Steve had taken a little long to decide what he wanted; their menus were _huge),_ and even during. It left both with a cold burger, but Steve was enjoying the conversation too much to care. 

“I think you’re lying.” 

“Nope.” 

“C’mon, they don’t let _fourteen_ year olds into college.”

“They can. And--they did.” 

Steve scoffed a laugh, “Prove it.” Tony popped a fry into his mouth, wiping hands with a napkin, ready to show how incredibly serious he was. Steve watched while he took another messy bite of burger, wiping his own napkin across mouth in an attempt from staining his mouth shades of red and yellow. 

When he found a suitable photo, Tony turned his phone around, placing it on the table in front of Steve with an all-too-cocky smile. “That moppy-haired kid is yours truly,” Steve laughed as Tony pointed to the shorter of the two boys pictured, donning an oversized MIT hoodie. “And that, is Rhodey. The only kid that more or less put up with me.” 

Steve’s nose scrunched. “Just as much trouble back then too, huh?” Tony’s foot kicked into Steve’s leg, laughing the brief discomfort away. 

“Probably worse. Peak teenage rebellion.” 

“Sounds like the worst place for it.” Steve’s eyes scanned the photo, eyes settling on the taller of the two. “You still talk to him?” 

“Rhodey?” Tony nodded, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “Two peas in a pod. He’s busy, I’m busy--” He shrugged. “--we pick up like we never missed a beat.” 

Steve smiled, fingers lifting another fry to his mouth. “Bucky and I were the same way.” He said, pausing long enough to chew. “No matter how long we’d be apart--the moment I saw his face again, it was like we’d never really parted ways to begin with.” His shoulders sagged, a somber expression rooting deep in blue irises. 

Tony watched Steve’s turmoil; like the guy had been hit by a truck. 

“You miss him.” 

Steve’s eyes lifted. He nodded. “Even before the serum, he was always there for me.” He sighed, brushing back the few strands of hair tickling his forehead. “He was my best friend. I never planned on what I’d do without him.” 

Bucky was the good in Steve’s life, the person who helped him through it all. His parents’ funerals, the ungodly amounts of fights he’d wrangle himself into, help on his rent, groceries. Bucky was there for _all_ of that. Steve had lost a piece of home when Bucky deployed; working together mended that pain. Bucky would have done anything for Steve; Steve would have done anything for _Bucky--_

And Bucky undoubtedly had died in enemies hands’. Alone. 

All because Steve couldn’t dodge a fucking beam. 

“If I’d avoided Zemo’s beam--” 

“But you didn’t.” Tony stopped him short, hazel’s level with troubled blues. “Don’t go down that road.” Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “Nothing but guilt waiting for you.” 

“But if you or SHIELD reverse this problem, I _could.”_ Steve argued. “I can save Bucky, prevent countless wrongdoings Hydra did after I disappeared.” Tony pushed air out of his chest, eyebrow raising in question. 

“Yeah. Following _one_ of the _thousands_ of time theories.” Tony leaned forward, picking a fry off Steve’s plate. “Remember what I said? Nobody _knows._ We don’t _know,_ Cap.” He popped the fry into his mouth, taking a few more in hand. “Theoretically, you could go back, live a happy life _under_ the radar because our history presumes you dead, winding up in this same timeline.” Steve watched Tony lay down a fry, and then another directly in front of it, creating a straight line, “Or--maybe you go back, interject however you please, and whatever 2019 _that_ creates is completely separate from _this_ one.” Calloused fingers lay down another fry diagonally against the first, placing another fry on top of it. 

Steve stared at the crude diagram. His throat tightened so much he couldn’t find the words to speak.

Tony’s eyes were unwavering on the soldier. “If you _believe_ in parallel dimensions, there’s an extremely high chance you’ll make one.” Tony huffed. “Or, maybe you’re not meant to go back. See the problem?” 

Steve swallowed, slowly raising his gaze to Tony’s frazzled expression. 

“I can’t tell you what’s gonna happen, Cap." He sounded sincere, voice softer in volume. "Too many possibilities.” 

Steve’s head spun -- and yet somehow Tony’s gist told him maybe no matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t save Bucky. Or maybe he could -- but how much would change because of it? 

He tried his absolute best to keep from pulling out his hair when he smoothed it back. “But you can get me back,” Steve slowly spoke, desperation clinging to each and every word. Tony’s gaze chilled Steve to the bone, a horrible pit in his stomach forming. 

“C’mon,” Tony slowly stood, gathering the remains of his meal. “Let’s get some air.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for all the wonderful comments, I love reading them, they're what keep me motivated <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys get a double update today! ;)

Steve didn’t understand why Tony wouldn’t further the topic on their walk to -- wherever it was the guy was leading them. It scared him, worried that something had changed. Something was wrong. 

Maybe he couldn’t get back. 

Blindly, Steve walked with him, nervous eyes landing on anywhere but Tony. He felt uncomfortable for reasons he didn’t quite understand, but the topic was so touchy, he had to assume it was only his nerves. It wasn’t until the crest of the large letter S peeked beyond buildings that Steve realized where they were going, but he didn’t understand _why._

“Fresh air? In there?” Steve inquired, but Tony didn’t so much as move a muscle out of line. 

“I’m giving you the grand tour.” Tony’s response was simple, unbothered, and Steve was so desperately trying to find some weird, deeper meaning between the lines, but nothing came. Not until Steve caught sight of someone he’d seen two blocks back. 

Wait--Steve had also seen them at the _restaurant._

“Tony--” 

Tony interrupted with a pat on the back, leading him across the street. “God, a whole month. Should’ve dragged you out here sooner.” Steve kept his eyes forward, not daring another glance at their follower. Either Tony was completely clueless, or he knew exactly what he was doing. Steve sure hoped it was the latter. 

They stepped through the double-wide doors, closing seamlessly behind them. The lobby was just as big as Steve expected, glossed floors sprawling what had to be hundreds of feet. He followed Tony’s slow pull for the elevators, blue eyes briefly flicking along his back. 

“You’ll get a kick out of this,” Tony said, lazily pressing the left elevator’s button. Steve turned his head just enough to look from the corner of his eye. Good, they hadn’t been followed in. The elevator rang and Tony motioned for Steve to head in first, following after with a soft clear of his throat, typing in what Steve could only assume was the access key to the private floors. “Full tour of the penthouse, million-dollar view--” 

The doors sealed shut, and without missing a beat, Tony turned hazel eyes on Steve. “SHIELD’s using you.” 

Confusion sprawled across Steve’s face. Uh, did he miss something? “What?” 

“That guy you tagged. SHIELD.” Tony sniffed, hands resting delicately inside pockets. “Ever get the feeling you’re being watched?” 

Steve blinked hard, eyes falling on the light indicating what floor they were passing. 49, 50, 51. “So I’m not crazy.” Eyebrows raised, a fake smile thinning Steve’s lips. “Think I would’ve preferred that to being followed.” Steve said, expression quickly relapsing into befuddlement. “But why?” 

“Think about it.” 101. 102 -- Jesus this elevator was fast. “You blipped their radar. Time travel -- possible, but how?” The doors opened, and Tony stepped out backwards, wagging his finger in thought. “Something you did, or _saw_ made it possible.” 

“Zemo’s weapon.” Steve followed Tony out, taking a wide gander at the gigantic penthouse that opened before him. 

“Right.” Tony motioned Steve with him, hesitantly pulling his eyes from the vast sea of windows. He had a harder time wrapping his head around the enormity of the space than the building itself. “You come in. Captain America. A legend gone missing. You’re lost, confused, and these people who you can only associate with an old code offer help.” 

Steve frowned, pausing in his steps. “How did you know about that?” He asked, but Tony ignored his question, slowly leading them to a kitchen that sprawled for eons. 

“You’re the cover-up. _You_ are meant to be the focus of this operation.” Steve scrunched his nose at Tony, who raised a hand in defense. “Steve Rogers, Captain America, the man out of time -- someone who needs to get _home.”_ Tony shrugged dramatically, opening a sleek, steel fridge, free of imperfections. “Who wouldn’t jump on that train?” Steve crossed his arms, leaning against an island that stretched nearly the entire expanse of the kitchen. 

“I don’t see your point.” 

A finger jabbed its way in Steve’s direction, the other hand occupied with pulling out a container of blueberries. “That’s what they want.” His hip bumped the fridge shut, dropping the container beside Steve with a soft pop of hinges. Steve reluctantly took a few, giving Tony the time to explain. “SHIELD? Helping someone without personal gain?” Tony scoffed. “Doesn’t happen. They have a MO.” 

Once he swallowed the first few berries, Steve interjected. “SHIELD was founded by two people I knew well. People I trusted.” 

“Yeah. In Nineteen-sixty something. Tell me, who of those bunch are still alive?” Steve frowned, watching Tony pop a handful into his mouth. “That’s right -- none. Agendas change when power shifts.” 

Steve sighed, picking a few bigger, juicy berries from the pile. “What’s your point, Tony. You sound like a movie detective.” The slightest crack of a smile formed on Tony’s lips, clearing his throat for the big reveal. 

“They want time travel. They want to figure it out, use it, _control_ it.” Tony deducted. “Sure, _maybe_ they’ll send you back. And then do god knows what with the algorithm. SHIELD _loves_ to weaponize things.” 

Steve frowned. “So did you.” 

“My _dad did._ I made the switch. Unlike my dad, I _like_ helping people.” Steve caught the sharp edge in Tony’s voice, creating a mental note to keep far away from that conversation in the future. “SHIELD is not my dad. And it’s definitely not me.” 

Steve ran a hand down his face, fingertips pinching the bridge of his nose. “So, you think SHIELD is using _me_ as a coverup to create a _time machine?”_ He felt ridiculous saying it out loud. 

Tony paused, straightening his posture a little with a tiny squint. “Yeah. Glad you kept up.” 

“Hold on, hold on.” Steve couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head at the billionaire. “I know you don’t _like_ SHIELD, but this is a huge accusation. How could you know that?” 

Tony swiped the blueberries from right under Steve’s hand, walking around the island with them. “Skeptics to my skepticism don’t get blueberries.” Steve rolled his eyes, folding hands across his chest while the freelance genius hogged the berries. “An organization following you never means well.” 

“That’s _one_ argument, they could be guards,” He speculated, startled by the exaggerated laugh behind him. Plastic hit countertop, and Tony rounded the island corner, hands lightly cupping both of Steve’s cheeks. 

“Guards? For _Captain America?”_ Steve shoved the dramatic man back by the chest, even if he was careful not to hit his reactor. “Wake up Steve.” Tony dramatically raised his voice, hands off by the time his sentence was finished. “Nobody offers guards to a man who can lift a car.” 

_“Fine.”_ Steve playfully shoved Tony back when he came in to most likely repeat the process. “If you think they’re so hellbent on weaponizing what Zemo accidentally had, why don’t you stop them?” He turned to face Tony, who had already meandered his way back for the blueberries, popping them a handful at a time. 

He shrugged. “I have.” When Steve’s face prompted for more, Tony continued. “One wrong number at a time.” He plainly stated. 

Steve cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve been giving them wrong data?” 

Tony clapped a hand right into the dip of Steve’s shoulder -- nothing like a good conspiracy theory to bring out the best in him. “Bingo.” 

“Where does that leave my chances of getting _home?”_ If Tony was right about this, about SHIELD, he was more than happy Tony was interfering with their plan, but this was Steve’s life they were talking about. Selfish or not, he wanted normalcy again. 

“I’m working on it.” The squeeze that gripped his shoulder pricked Steve’s cheeks with pink. There wasn’t a damn reason for it, but it lingered even as Tony tilted chin to look up at him. “Here. Away from prying eyes.” 

Steve sighed. He was overwhelmed with information, speculation, accusation. “And what makes you so different from them?” The soldier challenged, interested in Tony’s defense in all of this. 

But Tony only smirked, patting the broad-shouldered man between the shoulder blades. “Because I stalk you without higher up orders.” Steve erupted with laughter, head shaking in disbelief, how _odd_ this guy really was. 

“That’s one point in your favor, Stark. You better think of more if I’m gonna fully trust you.” It was a tease, but Steve only knew what the internet told, what SHIELD files read, and the buzz around HQ. The month spent here had given him insight, and a firm friendship with Tony, but if this was a serious as he claimed; he needed more. 

Tony’s hand dropped off broad back, snaking right back for the blueberries. “Give it time. I’m single-handedly the most trustworthy person you’ll meet.” A snort drug from Steve when he caught the cocky wink, watching Tony back off enough to snap fingers for the ceiling, illuminating the fireplace neatly placed in such an open concept. 

“Oh, and. Welcome to my house.” Tony added, gesturing to the assortment of furniture in the living space. “Come sit down, you’re making me nervous.” 

“Me? Making you nervous?” Steve snorted, slowly giving in to Tony’s request. “Are you okay?” He teased, wandering down the couple steps into the sunken living space. “Have a drink too many this morning?” Slowly he found a comfortable seat (all of them _looked_ comfortable, but this had a wonderful view of the city), settling in with a slow look around the room. 

It really was a work of art, in its own way. The smooth angles of the walls, the high, open ceilings. Steve could admire it as a sculpture of sorts, even if it _was_ a little over the top. But the guy had money, and nobody to deny him of spending it how he wanted. 

Tony found his way next to Steve, of all the seats in the space. He didn’t mind it, of course, more amused by the fact Tony preferred a seat so close to his usual ‘stay away from me’. He supposed Tony didn’t feel Steve violated his personal space, having taken careful precautions to keep him from becoming the same constant uncomfortable other people left him. “Not this time.” He answered Steve’s poke, conveniently placing blueberries on the table in front of them. With no prior objections, Steve reached his hand out for more, caught by the wrist halfway, Tony’s calloused fingers firmly wrapped around his pulse point. 

When Steve opened his mouth to speak, Tony spoke for him. “Are we done being a skeptic?” He asked, eyes twinkling with something Steve couldn’t quite identify, but it resembled playfulness of all things. 

Finally Steve sighed, long and dramatic, unseized hand raising in defeat. “Skeptic-no-more.” He promised, granted the release of his hand and the reward of delicious, ripe blueberries. 

“So you took me all the way up here just to tell me about your doubts?” Steve teased, savoring the taste of the snack. He hadn’t had any groceries here, just the things from the SHIELD cafeteria. They were _good._

Tony only snorted, stealing a berry right from Steve’s palm, popping it into his mouth before a word could be said against his crimes. “I _did_ want to invite you over.” He admitted, leaning more comfortably in his seat. “The conspiracy theory was an added bonus. Plus -- I don’t do well with spies watching me eat. Call me picky.” Steve smiled, lightly nudging a broad shoulder into the smaller man, who only grunted in response. 

“It’s a nice place.” He complimented, eyes briefly looking across the large, open expanse. “Little big for one guy, though.” He laughed, scooping another handful of berries. “You ever get lonely?” It was an honest question. Tony never mentioned a girlfriend, or family other than his father. Hell, Rhodey was the only person Steve knew that even talked to Tony besides himself, SHIELD excluded. 

And judging Tony’s initial shrug, Steve was betting he didn’t have much else. “If I’m not busy.” He adjusted one leg over another, head lazily thumping against the back of the couch. “Jarvis keeps me on my toes.” Just as Steve opened his mouth to ask about the new name, a disembodied voice sent shivers up his spine. 

_“I do more than that, sir.”_

After several seconds of staring at the ceiling, Steve finally came to his conclusion. “A robot?” Tony smiled, stealing yet another blueberry from Steve’s cupped hand. 

“The future’s so much better.” Tony smirked. “Can’t believe you’d go back to a world of polio and racism.” Steve rewarded Tony with an elbow, playfully rolling his eyes. 

“It’s where I belong. I shouldn’t see the invention of smartphones, or self-driving cars. It’s way beyond my time.” Steve turned his head more in Tony’s direction, eyes dulling in their sheen. “You said it yourself. I’m a man out of my time.” He could tell Tony was thinking by the way his eyes glossed over Steve’s face, but Steve had given up trying to read his face by now.

“You don’t have to be.” Tony said, lightly rolling a blueberry between two fingers. “You have a choice. Nobody’s stuffing you back into the good ‘ole days.” Steve raised an eyebrow, half tempted to steal the blueberry from Tony for payback. “Ever think of that?” 

“Of staying?” Steve clarified. “No, I hadn’t. It’s been in my head from day one the endgame was home.” He huffed. “In my own time.” Tony carefully read Steve’s expression.

“Would you consider it?” The question left Steve stumped. Confused almost. Why did Tony even want to know? 

He kept silent until the words could form on his tongue, slow and quiet. “I don’t know.” 

Tony straightened his posture, turning so most of his body faced Steve. “What’s waiting for you back home?” He asked. There was no snark, no double meaning to Tony’s question, so Steve sighed. 

“My team. The war cleanup.” He answered. 

“I think there’s something you’re missing.” Tony prompted, leaving Steve smiling an empty smile. 

Finally, he gave in. “Bucky.” He admitted. “Bucky’s my reason.” He knew the war cleanup went fine without him, he’d read all about it. His team went on to do bigger, better things without him. The world kept spinning, albeit a few hiccups along the way, but Steve would never forgive himself if he didn’t go back for Bucky. 

And Steve -- he, he just didn’t belong here. This wasn’t _his_ now. 

His eyes searched inside Tony’s. “I hope you’re not trying to tell me it’s not possible.” He’d said it was before, and again -- he couldn’t be lying to him now, not after a month. And to Steve’s relief, Tony shook his head, eyes tiredly crinkling. 

“I wanted to hear your motivations.” He clarified, clearing his throat. “Tell you what. I’ll do some digging. See what I can find on your Bucky.” Blue irises widened in disbelief, waiting for the catch in Tony’s offer. “It’s a shot at retrieving him quicker if you can’t prevent his kidnapping.” 

Before Tony even had a chance to add on to his explanation, Steve’s hand clasped Tony’s, squeezing it tighter than he probably should have. “Thank you, Tony.” His voice cracked, unable to fathom what possessed this man, this superficially _offstandish_ person to do so much for Steve, when he received so little in return. It baffled him, blew his mind, and all he could think to do was offer his thanks.

That alone gave Steve reason to trust Tony. 

He kept his firm hold until a soft pained noise squeaked out from Tony’s lips, quickly apologizing with a softer touch. “What a grip.” He laughed softly, flexing fingers in Steve’s looser grip to rid the ache. “One last thing,” Tony began, leaving Steve wondering what else he could possibly ask of him. 

“Stay with me.” 

“Tony--” 

He persisted. “You’re a SHIELD prisoner in that room. Stay here. Live a little, get out. Just until I find the right way to send you home.” Steve couldn’t believe what he was hearing; he _hadn’t_ been drinking, had he? 

“Why?” Was all that could crawl its way out of Steve’s mouth. 

“You deserve better. Everybody needs a life outside of orders.” 

Steve swallowed, eyes lowering to the book still secured inside his pocket. The only thing to his name after a month in the future, and Tony had given it to him. 

Not SHIELD. Tony. 

It took Steve more than a minute to collect himself, find his words, but finally he smiled. 

Then he grinned. 

“You’ve got yourself a roommate.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's hoping posting this at 1:30 AM isn't a major editing mistake! Hope you enjoy!

It didn’t take long to see how often Tony flocked to his in-suite lab at odd times, many of those sessions bleeding into the early mornings. A workaholic for sure, Steve often found Tony buried beneath holograms brimming with information. 

The clock on the kitchen stove read 4:37, a bit early even by Steve’s standards, but vivid dreams kept him from restful sleep, the rancid smell of gunpowder and blood still burning his nose. 

Steve tiredly pulled a water bottle from the fridge, jaws widening in a slow, lazy yawn. It wasn’t until he bumped the appliance shut that another dim light caught his eye, casting soft shadows along the far wall of a hallway. What was Tony’s lab doing lit up?

He stepped down the few stairs towards the warm glow, wondering what had Tony up at a time like this. Surely he’d forgotten to turn the lights off before heading to bed. 

Half asleep, Steve squinted through brighter lights pouring into the hallway, fumbling for the lab door interface. His unique code unlatched the transparent door, quietly pushing it aside, scanning the wide space for any signs of the workaholic. “Tony?” No answer greeted him, two robots approaching instead. 

Steve stepped further inside, lightly running a hand along the cold steel of DUM-E’s frame. “It’s not like him to leave the lights on,” He spoke quietly, patting the robot who beeped in response. Guess Tony really  _ had _ been too tired to fool with it, taking it upon himself to flick the lights off--just before a noise froze Steve in his spot. 

Tensed, Steve kept still, finger warily hovering over the lightswitch. 

It came again, louder this time, and Steve’s shoulders slumped with a quiet scoff.

Tony was snoring. 

Steve flicked the switch and re-illuminated the space in a hunt for Tony, only this time with a noise to lead him to the source. 

Carefully he stepped around the two robots, another snore pulling his attention right. Now that his eyes were fully adjusted, it didn’t take long at all to find messy chocolate hair resting on a tabletop, face hidden underneath crossed arms. Steve smiled, amused at how Tony managed to find comfort sleeping in such a horrid position. His chair was inches from sending him straight into the floor, so Steve thought it best to wake him, slowly placing hands on either shoulder. 

The slow rise and fall of Tony’s shoulders softened Steve’s smile, an old t-shirt bunched up around his mid-back. Staying here had shown a different side of Tony Steve hadn’t seen. He was softer around the edges, less put together, but Steve didn’t mind. If anything, he preferred it to the haughty facade masking Tony’s usual interactions. This Tony, this sleeping, snoring frumpled man below him was the genuine version.

With hands resting on warm shoulders, Steve slowly inhaled, lightly shaking the smaller frame precariously slumped underneath him. “Tony.” Nothing but a quiet groan answered him, so he tried again. “Hey, Tony.” 

Slowly he moved, one hand pushing back tangled hair while the other simply pulled itself out from under his cheek. The movement--unbeknownst to him--was enough to compromise the chair’s stability, legs and knees dropping straight for the floor with the sleepiest yelp Steve had ever heard. 

Acute super soldier reflexes grabbed Tony’s middle, just barely keeping his knees from meeting a painful concrete floor. “Careful,” His voice stayed soft while Tony gripped the table, using every sluggish upper body muscle he owned. Slowly the guy found his footing, still processing exactly what happened by the drowsy, stressed expression.

“Jesus,” Tony finally managed, clawing his way to feet with help from Steve. Only when both hands braced the workbench did Steve let go, delicately pulling the bunched up shirt back to its proper length. 

Tony hardly noticed, still processing the slip. “Hell of a reflex.” He muttered, fingers curling into the cold tabletop. “What time ‘sit.” 

Gently, Steve rubbed Tony’s back, sure the rush of adrenaline hadn’t been the best of wake up calls. “About four-forty.” He paused, “AM.” Tony grunted. “Your lights were on -- I thought you forgot to turn them off.” 

“Nope.” Tony’s voice weighed heavy with sleep, both arms raising in a long, lazy stretch. “God, that early?” Steve felt a hitch in Tony’s movement, able to tell his back was in rough shape from sleeping so awkwardly. 

Steve’s curiosity got the best of him. “How late were you working?” At least five mugs scattered the tabletop, not sure if they were from one sitting or entirely different days. 

“Uh,” Tony rubbed calloused hands down his face, as if he struggled to recall. “Twelve----two, ish.” Steve’s eyebrow cocked, slowly pulling mugs from the table so he could place them in the sink across the room. 

“Doing what exactly?” Steve asked, carefully walking the handful of cups. 

“Research.” Tony groaned quietly, kicking in the chair so desperately trying to kill him. “What did SHIELD tell you on Barnes?” 

Steve sat the last cup down, exhaling through his nose. “That he went missing.” He answered, stepping around the robot slowly following his path. 

“That’s it?” Steve nodded his head, watching Tony scoff the best he could with half-closed eyes. “Doesn’t surprise me. Better to send you back not knowing.” He muttered, lazily swiping holograms into the area above the table. Blue eyes settled on a picture of his old friend, all thoughts converging into a single question as he hurriedly returned to Tony’s side. 

“Not knowing what?” 

But Tony hesitated, finding Steve’s eyes laden with question. “Promise me you won’t do anything _stupid._ As in storming SHIELD’s intelligence department.” Confusion melded into blue irises; what was he talking about? 

He shook his head, staying firm with the topic. “What happened to Bucky?” 

“Promise first.” Tony said. Steve huffed, straightening his posture. It was clear he wasn’t getting so much as a peep out of Tony before he did, so with a soft nod, Steve complied. 

Steve exhaled, unaware he’d been holding his breath as Tony sifted through files, until one in particular stopped his fingers. “Here.” Fingers spread across the screen, enlarging a picture. It was grainy, like a security feed -- but the face it captured was unmistakable. 

“Bucky.” Steve breathed his name as if he were witnessing a crime. Eyes scanned every inch, every pixel of the image until it gave no more information away -- and then they landed on Tony, who looked tired--sleepy still--but almost nervous. “When was this taken?” 

Tony only hesitated for a second; Steve thought his heart might lurch out of his chest in anticipation. 

“The day  _ after  _ SHIELD records report him missing.” Steve furrowed eyebrows, looking to Tony for further explanation. 

Tony cleared his throat, pushing past sleep. “SHIELD said he went missing--technically, he did. Can’t fault them for that.” The brunette raised his fingers, swiping the image of Steve’s best friend into nothingness. “Bare minimum should be their mantra.” Another file came into view, one Steve had never seen before. “Your pal went  _ missing _ after he took it upon himself to confront Zemo. No commandos, no soldiers.” 

“Oh god,” His voice was hoarse. Tony enlarged the file, a security clip attached at the bottom. 

One brief look over told Tony to play the video, stepping back enough for Steve to have a clear view. Every word on the screen read in German, but the date was clear. About two months after Steve was swallowed by Zemo’s weapon. 

No audio played, but flashes of white told Steve someone was shooting, a familiar frame coming into the shot -- only one arm gone. Steve swallowed, watching as Bucky shot off-screen again and again until another figure joined. 

Steve was so encompassed in the footage that the gentle hand against his back went unnoticed.

The weapon in Zemo’s hand was undoubtedly a replica of the first, his breath hitching every time Bucky barely missed a shot. When they were close enough, Bucky tackled Zemo to the floor, roughly wrestling for the weapon in the Baron’s hand. Steve didn’t move, didn’t breathe as they fought, only watching as Bucky yanked the weapon out of Zemo’s grasp, lift it above his head, and slam it down into his skull, again and again until a blinding light engulfed the entire screen. Steve gripped the table, leaning forward with a silent “No,” as the timestamp continued forward, the light refusing to diminish. 

A full thirty seconds went by without a single change. Only after did the light begin to fade and the footage return to the familiar setting -- only without Bucky, Zemo, and half the equipment in the room. 

Steve’s mouth was dry; he felt sick. 

“This came from SHIELD archives.” Tony spoke slowly, softly, giving Steve ample time to sift through the turmoil he was undergoing. “Only this energy signature hasn’t been found.” Steve exhaled shakily, glassy eyes slowly turning to Tony, whose hand stayed firm against him. “So--  _ yeah.  _ Barnes is missing; in the past or the  _ future. _ But he’s not here  _ now.”  _

“It’s my fault.” Steve’s voice cracked. “He went there because of me.” If Bucky had let it go, he could have avoided the same fate.

Steve sniffed as the warm hand lightly ran up his shoulder and squeezed. “Would you’ve done any different?” Tony asked.

No. 

No, he wouldn’t have. 

Steve’s fingers shakily found the ones on his shoulder, clasping them with a heavy, distressed exhale. “He’s alive?” He sounded pitiful, desperate to find a sliver of hope in this catastrophe. 

And Tony nodded, squeezing fingers underneath warm, bigger ones. “Somewhere. Some time. He’s alive.” Tony knew that only rang true if the weapon replicated was near-identical, but he didn’t dare tell Steve that. As far as both knew, Bucky was okay. They just didn’t know  _ when.  _

Still, Steve struggled to compose himself. Rough sniffs shook his body, Tony’s touch the only comfort he could find. That -- and the possibility that Bucky was still alive. He had to hold onto that. 

Bucky was alive. 

He stayed silent for some time, wiping rogue tears off his cheek. He hated losing his composure in front of Tony, in front of  _ anybody, _ but the man acting out of pure passion in that footage was his best friend, someone he believed to be dead — something SHIELD led him to believe. 

Steve hissed angrily through his teeth. Tony’s skepticism proved right again. 

Now he understood why Tony had made him promise. 

Lied to about his  _ best friend. _

Who did SHIELD think they were?

“We’ll find him.” The words pulled Steve from his anger, reddened eyes falling on Tony, who gave a nod. “If these time jumps have a pattern; he’ll show up soon. Look --” Tony used his free hand, pointing at the date on the corner of the surveillance. “That’s roughly, two months after you split.” Steve nodded, sniffing softly. “You’ve been here more or less that long, meaning--” 

“You think he’ll come forward in time as much as I did.” Steve finished, voice still giving away his obvious distress. 

Tony exhaled, nodding. “Yeah. Probably wind up in Germany too -- but that’s one jet ride away.” Steve nodded, a pitiful smile quivering on his lips. 

He curled fingers around Tony’s hand, lifting it off his shoulder. Their fingers interlocked, warm calloused skin brushing softly against his. It was intimate, comforting, strangers in Steve’s life. “Thank you, Tony.” Relief came when Tony squeezed their hands, afraid he’d overstepped. “I can’t thank you enough. For everything you’ve done.” He half expected a dismissal or an egoistic remark, but Tony did neither of those things, simply stepping forward to embrace the soldier who barely had it together. Warm hands spread across his back, face buried into Steve, too short to hook chin on his shoulder. 

All Tony said was, “You deserve it.” A remark that broke Steve into pieces. Tony kept telling him that, why? Why did he think he deserved so much? What had Steve done to deserve all of this? His help, his company -- his  _ penthouse?  _ Steve hadn’t done a thing, and yet Tony insisted on taking care of him, keeping him safe, protecting him from becoming another _ experiment. _

Steve wept. Tears stained the top of chocolate curls, hands gripping Tony as if he were the most important thing in the world, because he was. Right now, Tony was the most important thing in the world to Steve, and he couldn’t bear to let go. 

And Tony? Tony let him. Tony caressed his back; instilled soft words into Steve. Tony held the broken soldier close, easing his troubles one by one. Tony kept his friend close, safe, and warm while he unraveled. 

Tony let him be a human being. 

\---

“No, he can’t come in.” 

Steve peeked over his shoulder, watching Tony pace back and forth just behind the kitchen island. Their eyes met, and Tony dramatically crossed his. Steve smiled, playfully rolling his eyes. 

“Why? Because --” Tony briefly took the phone away from his ear, giving a long look up Steve. “He’s sick. Yeah. Some super soldier virus.” Steve laughed.

If Tony was talking to Coulson, he’d have to do better than that. 

Carefully he flipped an egg, aiming a dissatisfied scowl down as the yolk tore open. Damn. 

“Well, you thought wrong. He’s two coughs away from losing an entire lung.” 

If Steve wanted to keep Tony from sassing the poor soul on the other end, he better hurry and finish breakfast. 

Three more flips earned more successful over-medium eggs, careful to cook Tony’s a little longer. Something about a slight char made that odd man happy. 

“Coulson. Buddy. Let it go. I’ll send data over, and we’ll call it a day.” Tony meandered for two plates, setting both on the countertop for Steve. “Big breakthrough’s coming. I can feel it.” Steve snorted, wondering how much longer Tony could get away with the false numbers. 

A careful motion placed two eggs on each plate, taking the busted yolk for himself. Next came the bacon, sizzling even after it left the griddle, and toast, still hot from the toaster. Burners were shut off, and Steve set the spatula down just as Tony pulled the phone from his ear. “How much longer do you plan on covering for me?” 

“Ideally, indefinitely.” Tony answered, fetching silverware and butter. “Especially if Barnes shows." Yeah, keeping SHIELD far away from another burst of energy was going to be interesting -- but that was a problem for later. "They have all they need." Tony continued. "I detect jealousy.” Steve laughed, transferring both plates to the island, where they could sit and talk. 

“Well, Coulson  _ is  _ my biggest fan.” 

Tony laughed, sticking a fork into Steve’s egg. “Part of me is  _ dying  _ to see his bedroom.” He smirked, slicing off a generous pad of butter. 

“Be nice, Tony.” Steve laughed, cutting up the egg Tony had so rudely stabbed. “Everybody’s a fan of something.” 

“Uh, yeah.” Crispy toast crunched between teeth, already spilling crumbs over his loose, frumpled t-shirt. “When you’re seven. If you didn’t have a Captain America costume by then, you weren’t cool.” 

Steve raised an eyebrow. “That so? Tell me Tony,” Steve started, a thin smirk curling lips, “did _ you _ have one of these Captain America costumes?” His question must have had some impact because Tony quickly took another bite, hazel eyes casually finding somewhere  _ else _ to rest.

“That’s entrapment.” 

Steve laughed. “It’s a question. And you’re doing a pretty good job of answering it.” He loved the ever-growing list of embarrassing things to tease Tony about. All in good fun -- at least, for Steve. 

Finally, after the third bite of toast, Tony spilled. “No shame in admitting I was a fan. You had TV shows, you know. Cartoons.” 

Steve’s grin was as big as ever. “Oh yeah? Watched those too?” The elbow to his side was well deserved, but it only had him laughing. 

“I’m telling everyone Cap’s a little shit.” 

“Good luck. I’ll be rooting for you in the civil case.” The disgruntled facade contorting Tony’s face was priceless. “Stop trying to learn laser vision and eat your eggs before they get cold.” 

Tony rolled his eyes, dropping toast in exchange for a bite of egg. “Yes mother.” 

As they ate, Steve spared occasional glances to Tony. He always enjoyed mornings with him, eager for their lazy chats or friendly banter. Tony treated him as a friend and less of a soldier, something Steve took no issue with (he liked Steve for all his qualities; not simply his skill in battle). 

Plus, Steve liked to see what frumpled outfit Tony waltzed downstairs in. Today it was that t-shirt, worn three times this month. One of Tony’s favorite bands with the incredibly loud music that was sure to deafen the guy before he reached fifty. More than a few crumbs stuck to the fabric, charmed by how Tony didn’t seem to mind, as sharp as he was outside of the house. Messy chocolate hair pulled in every direction, waiting to be gelled to a specific style after his shower. Steve wished he’d leave it like that, liking his natural hair.

And then the pants. Oh boy. Pinstripes seemed to be Tony’s favorite, more specifically the light blue pair he wore now. A little too loose, Steve wasn’t sure if it was a preference, or if one too many late nights had made him thinner. 

Steve found himself glossing over Tony’s outfit each time it changed, only -- Tony didn’t usually catch him in the act. 

The unintended stare abruptly ended when Steve realized Tony’s own eyes were glued to him. He cleared his throat, hastily looking to his half-eaten egg. No dice; Tony’s eyes still bored holes into him. He knew exactly what he was thinking, too. A way to make their conversation perform the most incredible 180 anybody had ever seen. 

“So.” Tony started. Steve didn’t dare look up, eyes pathetically glued to his egg. “Something on my face?” He leaned in closer. Steve’s cheeks prickled pink. He could  _ feel  _ the smirk taking form. “Or maybe, on my shirt.” 

Dammit, Tony. 

“Yeah,” Steve said, daring those brown bambi eyes. “A bunch of crumbs.” Proving his point, Steve leaned and shook out Tony’s shirt, bouncing crumbs every which way into the floor. Tony’s expression flatlined, pride swelling in Steve’s chest. 

Nice try, mister. 

“Not--what I meant.” 

Steve played the dumb card, shrugging broad shoulders. “I dunno what to tell you.” He said, taking a slow, prolonged bite of his egg. 

“No? What about the other times? Yesterday during the Star Wars marathon?” Steve’s face dropped. “Or--a few days back, at the coffee shop.” Shit. “What about those, Spangles?” 

So...maybe he noticed more than he thought. 

“What,” Steve shifted--no, squirmed was a better description. “I’m not allowed to look at you?” 

“I encourage it.” The low purr in Tony’s voice made this worse. Much worse. “A reason would be great.” 

He couldn’t keep a calm demeanor as Tony could. Not for this long. He was pretty sure Tony knew that. “I...just, happen to like looking at you.” Of all the things he could’ve said, that was definitely the worst. 

Tony’s eyebrow cocked, leaned forward with his head propped up by an elbow. “What happened to honesty is the best policy, Mr. America?” Now he was just getting cocky. 

Tony Stark was a man of many talents. The ability to back someone into a corner was one of them. “That wasn’t a lie.” He tried. 

“But not the whole truth. Spill.” 

Steve stabbed the last bite of egg, popping it into his mouth. Did  _ he _ even know why? He liked observing Tony. Liked to watch his mannerisms, his habits -- liked to hear him laugh and see him smile. Those were things everybody picked up if they lived with a person. 

Right? 

“You’re a good friend.” Steve said. “You have a nice smile, a good laugh. And --” Steve shrugged his shoulders, frowning. “I think you dress nicely.” Yeah. 

Tony listened, expression giving away nothing, which only made Steve nervous. There wasn’t even a twitch in the corner of his mouth to give Steve a clue what was going on in that genius’ head of his. Finally, he straightened back out, brushing the remaining crumbs off his body. “I’m wearing a t-shirt.” He said, an innocent smile plastered on softened, pink lips. “God you need a better standard. Do I need to take you clothes shopping again?” 

“No--” Steve started, frowning. “You’re making fun of me.” Tony clapped him on the shoulder, gripping it firmly. 

“Stay clueless more often. It’s cute.” 

Steve prickled pink again, stealing bacon from Tony’s plate. “I _ live  _ to look cute for you.” He raised the bacon far beyond where Tony’s outstretched hand could reach, winking as an act of defiance. Once Tony forfeited, Steve crunched on the bacon, laughing as Tony flipped him the bird. “You make the bacon, and then we’ll talk.” 

“I make bacon, and we’ll need the fire department.” 

Steve smirked, lightly nudging Tony by the shoulder. “Just bacon?” 

“Point is--stick with the cooking.” 

“Aye-aye Captain.” Tony raised his eyebrows, an impressed look following. 

“Making fun of  _ yourself? _ That earns a brownie point.” 

Steve lightly poked his chest. “Now you want brownies?” 

“Yes.” Tony nodded, pointing a finger right for Steve. “Ready in two hours or I’m barring you from Return of the Jedi.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Steve wiped sweat beading down his temple, blowing air out slowly. 

Once composed he resumed his assault, wrapped knuckles throwing hard blows into a well-worn punching bag. 

Another perk of living with Tony; just about every amenity Steve could think of was provided. 

One punch came after another, falling into his bodies’ natural rhythm. The blunt impacts sparked rough sensations, teetering between discomfort and pain — something he hadn’t felt in over two months now. Before this fiasco, fighting had been Steve’s routine, his job, his _life._ Now, he was lucky enough to find something and distract himself while Tony muddled through time physics. 

Blood pumped through veins, adrenaline urging fists to land their mark, each punch harder than the last. His knuckles stung, but it felt good, and Steve almost missed the pain. 

He thought about Bucky. About his team. About Zemo, the weapons, Hydra. His moments of clarity always came in combat, dirtied fists bashed against an enemy— 

He thought this would help the rogue thoughts bouncing in his head. 

But today his mind pulled in a different direction, away from the bad, the unavoidable, the past. 

Each punch mirrored its impact; a single word rattling around in his brain. Over and over again, harder, stronger than the last. 

_Tony._

Tony was the good in Steve’s modern life. He was the reason Steve looked forward to waking up in an otherwise foreign world. His laughs instilled happiness, his smiles warmed Steve’s soul. The soldier would listen to him talk for _hours_ if it meant Tony had more time to light up the room.

His next punch popped leather stitchings. 

Tony’s question bothered Steve every day. 

_Would you consider it? Staying here._

Steve’s answer _had_ been genuine. He didn’t know. He hadn’t thought about it. Bucky was too important, waiting for him seventy years in the past. 

Right up until he wasn’t. 

With Bucky theoretically thrown into Steve’s same future, the only thing tethering him to the past was his birthdate. 

And returning to his proper time meant Steve would _never_ see Tony again. 

Steve grit teeth together and swung a right hook so hard, the seams burst on impact, sand spilling in every messy direction. Even _his_ reflexes were too slow to stop it, panicking as broad fingers clasped against the busted hole. 

“Jarvis--tape?” Breaking things that were likely of very high quality reverted Steve to caveman language. 

_“In the laboratory.”_ Steve grimaced. _“I wish you the_ **_most_ ** _of luck, sir.”_ Yeah, he’d _need_ all the luck in the world to go unnoticed, much less return before every grain of sand emptied itself from the bag. 

Caressing the side of this thing did him no good either. Slowly, Steve applied pressure to the puncture, lifting it up and off the hook. The sooner he laid this down on it’s back the better. 

He bent knees, beginning to situate it on the floor when movement turned his head.

Standing there in the doorway was his biggest fear. Tony, coffee in hand, with eyes on the destruction. 

“Tony--” Steve babbled, frozen in place. Caught red-handed. “I can explain--” 

He started down the steps into his personal gym, coffee lazily raising to lips in a silent confirmation to begin said explanation. 

“I--” Steve’s shoulders sagged, his expression that of a guilty puppy. “I got carried away. Caught up in my thoughts.” He’d offer to pay for a replacement, but they both knew he didn’t have a dime to his name. Tony continued his gait, expression unreadable. Neither one of them broke eye contact until the shorter of the two stopped beside him. 

A single hand pat between the soldier’s shoulder blades, its owner offering an inquisitive look down at the abused equipment. “I’ll say.” He said, sipping a rather loud drink. “Don’t tell me you’re seriously guilty over this.” 

Steve furrowed his brow. “I broke it.” 

“Yeah,” Tony cocked an eyebrow his way. “It’s leather and sand. I’ll get over it.” His entire voice bled amusement and while relieved, Steve couldn’t say he was surprised. “I can count on one hand the things you’ve broken so far. For a super soldier, I’d say that’s good.” 

Steve scoffed, because really, he was right. “You’ve done so much for me, and all I seem to do is break things.” 

“Uh, and cook.” Tony added, fingers lightly clinking against his mug. “Do you know how sick I was of chinese takeout?” Steve smiled, lightly nudging Tony with an arm. 

“I can’t pay rent just by cooking for my incompetent landlord.” The offended look Tony shot made him laugh, knowing it took way more than that to ruffle his feathers. 

Tony walked towards a table, setting his nearly-empty cup down. “You’re right.” He said, motioning Steve for the boxing ring further inside the decently sized space. “It’s about time you taught me a few moves.” 

Steve cocked an eyebrow, snorting. “Tony.” He began to object, but the billionaire was already ducking under ropes, meandering to the center of the ring. Steve shook his head, a look of some amused questioning twisting his face. “You’re serious?” 

“Deadly, Rogers. Now move your old keister and get up here.” 

Steve huffed a laugh, following his given orders. Once inside the ring, he met toe-to-toe with Tony, eyebrow raised in questioning. “What did you have in mind?” 

He cleared his throat. “Show me what broke the bag.” Steve rolled his eyes.

Tony sure was a handful, but -- if he wanted a lesson, who was Steve to deny him? 

“Alright.” He agreed, hands finding each hip. “Do you know how to punch?” 

Tony snorted. “Next question.” 

He rolled his eyes, albeit playfully. “Form a fist with both hands.” Tony did as instructed, hazel eyes watching the super soldier round behind him. “Now, tuck in your arms, close to your body.” Steve carefully adjusted an arm, but only slightly -- figuring he’d done some amateur practice on his own at some point. 

“Good.” Steve squeezed Tony’s shoulder, the goosebumps on his skin going unnoticed. “Place this foot here,” He lightly tapped the other’s leg, pointing to the correct position. “And the other there.” Tony moved accordingly, blue eyes carefully watching to ensure his placement gave Tony proper stability. Steve stepped to Tony’s left, mirroring his stance. The attention sent shivers down Steve’s spine. 

“Use your left hand and swing your body this way into a jab.” Steve demonstrated as he spoke, hazel eyes carefully observing.

Tony mimicked his display, earning a smile from Steve. “Something tells me you’ve done this before.” He lightly teased, stepping closer again.

“Unofficially.” He smirked, winking in the soldier’s direction. It earned him a snort, and the slightest pink on Steve’s cheeks, something he quickly fought aside. 

He continued, teaching him right and left hooks, the proper stances; Steve even threw in an uppercut, curious how far Tony intended on stretching this lesson. 

Only when Tony fought for breath did he raise his hand, bracing hands against legs with heavy pants. 

Steve gave him distance, returning to the center of the ring while Tony wiped his forehead. “Not bad, Stark.” He wouldn’t deny he was impressed. Boxing definitely didn’t overlap with _any_ of Tony’s work or special interests -- at least, that he _knew_ of (Tony _was_ always surprising him). He gauged Tony’s stamina, settling on his next words. “Think you have it in you for a test?” 

Tony exhaled loudly, eyes squeezed shut. “A test?” 

“Show me what you learned.” The elaboration opened Tony’s eyes, slowly dragging himself up to a proper stance. “I’ll play defense.” 

“You, want _me_ to hit _you.”_

Steve smirked. “Unless you’re too _tired.”_ Oh did _that_ get Tony moving. 

He swung -- a jab, easily dodged with a quick sideways maneuver. “Stay focused, Tony.” A right hook landed, blocked by a sturdy forearm. “Anger won’t get you closer to a hit.” 

“I’m not angry.” Tony’s voice was level but out of breath as he swung again, stumbling back from light retaliation. “Just ready to show off.” 

Steve’s smirk widened, gesturing at himself. “Start whenever you’re ready.” The taunt narrowed Tony’s eyes, throwing another easily blocked hook. Another and another Steve blocked, each hit more coordinated than the last. “Good, Tony.” He encouraged, adrenaline rising with every blocked punch. 

Tony jabbed again, catching the edge of Steve’s shoulder. He followed with a right hook that the soldier quickly dispersed, but left him open for an uppercut straight to the abdomen. He staggered backward, shocked, but Tony didn’t miss a beat, slamming a kick Steve _definitely_ hadn’t taught him into the same place with just enough force to drop him on his ass. 

Astonished, wide eyes met Tony’s gaze, his expression dripping with defiance. It was obvious he had more than a simple test in mind -- and Steve hadn’t fought in over two months. He was playing a very dangerous game.

“Playing dirty?” The soldier asked, settling on haunches as Tony advanced. 

An oh-so-innocent smile complimented Tony’s reply. “It _is_ called kickboxing.” 

Steve scoffed, eyes locked on Tony. “You should know something about me.” Quicker than that genius brain could process, Tony’s legs swept out from underneath him, a flurry of limbs plummeting for the ground as he gasped his surprise. 

Careful, strategic fingertips caught the broad of Tony’s back _inches_ from the ground. He lay dumbfounded, wide-eyed and all as Steve pulled him closer with a wide, wicked smile. 

“I don’t always follow the rules.” 

Tony didn’t move, didn’t speak. Maybe it was lack of air by the way his chest heaved, or pure shock being dragged down so quickly. Whatever the reason, Steve was damn glad he’d never forget such a look.

He continued in Tony’s rare absence of words. “Great job, Tony.” He praised, “A few more lessons and nobody will think twice about bothering you.” His remark pulled a snort. 

“Except you.” 

Steve grinned, carefully pulling Tony up so he could sit. “I can’t let you off the hook _that_ easily, Stark.” 

Tony situated comfortably against the mat, now that his _savior_ had returned him to rights. “Wouldn’t want you to.” A provocative wink batted long lashes, something Steve found difficult to look away from.

He cleared his throat, hoping his eyes hadn’t given away his momentary trance.

Steve finally settled on words. “I should find that tape.” The sooner he did, the quicker he could shower and start his day.

But Tony wasn’t quite done yet. Before Steve could shift his weight and stand, two hands shoved at his chest, forcing his broad back against the boxing mat. Within a second two knees gripped his sides, hungry eyes staring down the soldier trapped beneath them. “You’re driving me nuts, Rogers.” Steve squawked, taken aback by the unusual frustration lacing his voice (along with the fact he was also _on top of him_ ). “Pin me.” 

Steve struggled for words, his face an entirely new color. “Tony--” Surely he was _joking._

_“Pin me.”_ It came as an order this time, sparking Steve’s compliance. They rolled until Tony laid flush on the mat, eager brown eyes and messy chocolate locks greeting Steve. His chest heaved, forehead beaded with sweat from their sparring, but a different scenario briefed Steve’s mind, the kind that brought people shame. 

“Why?” It was all Steve could manage. 

Tony’s hands splayed above him, their eyes interlocked. “Because you won’t make a move. I made it for you.” 

“Make a--” Steve shook his head, looking to him as if he were insane. “What?” The groan leaving Tony weakened his knees. 

“I don’t know a _thing_ about forties’ flirting, but I’ve been waiting _two months.”_ Steve gawked at the man beneath him, who did nothing more than cock an eyebrow inquisitively. No odd circumstances here, straddling was a _perfectly normal_ conversation starter in the 21st century. 

“You--” Steve’s mouth struggled for a sensible sentence. He tried, over and over again, hoping the cogs in his brain would churn _something_ out, but all they did was smoke, stutter, malfunction. 

“I didn’t--” 

“--think I knew?” Tony purposefully finished his sentence, amusement sparkling in those doe eyes. “No offense, but subtlety isn’t your forte.” 

Steve dropped his head, huffing a laugh. “So I’ve been told.” He murmured, eyes slowly reconnecting with Tony’s. Finally, he continued. “Cut me a break -- this isn’t exactly normal for me.” 

“Because civil rights and cultural norms would’ve stopped you.” Steve’s cheeks tinted, thinking Tony had given him _more_ than enough reasons to blush today. It was a damn sixth sense with him. 

Slowly, Steve muddled through his choice of words. He had so much to say. And he wouldn’t dare screw it up -- not now, when the person who he was simply enamored with laid beneath him, straddled by -- Jesus, he was _still_ straddling him. “Tony, I--” 

“Just kiss me.” 

And Steve did. 

It was salty, warm, and two months late.

It was everything Steve could have asked for and more.

Again. Sweeter than the last, his eyes fluttered, carding fingers through chocolate hair. Tony encouraged the touch, finding fingers running through his own hair, coaxing their kiss deeper. 

Again. Tony rumbled the sweetest noise imaginable, filling Steve’s heart to the brim. Again and again they kissed, each closer, warmer, intoxicating. Tony tasted better than Steve could have _ever_ imagined-- 

Steve pulled away. The biggest mistake of his life. “I can’t do this. Tony,” His fingers loosened, dropping locks wrapped between fingers. A deafening silence prefaced the horrible truth. “I don’t belong here.” 

Tony simply stared without words as Steve punished himself -- like he always seemed to do. He pulled fingers away, surely to remove himself from underneath Steve, but the hand cupped his jaw, calloused thumb running along his cheek. “Maybe you do.” 

He leaned into the touch, voice struggling for a tone. “My place is in the last century. Before the internet, before _you.”_

But Tony’s eyes were unwavering. “It doesn’t have to be.” Steve’s lip quivered. “You _have_ a choice, Steve.”

He squeezed eyes shut, concentrating on the rough ridges of Tony’s thumb. 

“You can stay here, or — take your friend with you back to the forties. Lucky for you, we’re dealing with time.” Tony said, cracking the tiniest smile. “You have all the time in the world to decide.” 

Two months ago, the only thing that mattered was getting home. Now, Steve found himself pulled the opposite direction, despite his rationalizations. He exhaled slowly, shakily, nodding to Tony. 

“You know my answer.” Tony murmured, thumb gently brushing along soft, pink lips. “The choice belongs to you.” 

He nodded again, softly kissing his thumb. Steve was beginning to think he’d already made it. 

Careful fingers pulled Tony’s away from his jaw. Each finger perfectly intertwined, the rough edges of weathered fingers tickling Steve’s skin. He leaned down, kissing him again. Longer, deeper this time. 

Past, present, or future -- Hell, it didn’t matter. Steve wanted to cherish _right now._

He lost count of their kisses, too wrapped up in Tony’s scent to care. Time became irrelevant; soft exhales, gentle touches and Tony were all that mattered. 

Two months Steve had wanted this. Tony was right -- they had all the time in the world. 

_“Sir.”_

The voice went unnoticed, replaced with the soft sounds of kissing. 

**_“Sir.”_** The AI tried louder. 

Their lips parted softly, long enough for a disinterested reply. “Little busy J.” Steve carded through soft hair, resealing their lips. 

Jarvis didn’t care. _“An energy spike was just recorded in Germany.”_ Tangled limbs froze, lips slowly pulling away in an unfinished kiss. 

_“The signature is remarkably similar to the one that brought Captain Rogers.”_

The words were an electrical shock, springing both upright off the mat. Steve’s heart twisted, eyes locking together as they spoke in dumbfounded tandem. 

_“Bucky.”_

\---

It was a race against time. Even with Tony’s private jet going however many _hundreds of_ miles per hour, there was no guarantee that Bucky would still be there. 

Steve wrung his hands just thinking about it. 

A gentle hand pulled him from his trance, rubbing his shoulder. “He’ll be there.” His words were soft, reassuring.

God, Steve wanted to believe him. 

“What if he isn’t?” It was a fair question, an answer the distressed soldier needed.

Steve’s eyes closed, the softest kiss imaginable brushing blonde hair. “Then we’ll find him.” 

The jet touched down in a clearing, the outskirts of a small town. Before the engine’s roar died down, Steve’s stomach churned. Normally he’d pass it off as nerves, eager to reunite with his best friend, but this was a feeling of unease, no--something wasn’t right. 

He hurried to a window, eyes peering through the dense forest growth. “Someone else is here.” His conclusion stopped Tony in his tracks, hand outstretched for the door. 

“Care to elaborate?” Steve pulled away from the windows, hurrying for the disorganized duffle bag he’d swiped in their rush. 

Steve unzipped the top. “One, maybe two dozen vehicles. They didn’t park in the open.” If they had, Tony’s jet would have crushed them like a soda can -- but why hide? He pulled rumpled fabric out, draping it across an armchair. 

Tony frowned. “Jarvis?” 

_“Registered SHIELD vehicles, sir.”_

Steve grit his teeth. “If Zemo’s still in there --” 

“--they’ll have everything they need.” Tony quickly finished, hurrying out the door and down the jet steps. 

Steve was barely on his feet, scrambling to change clothing. “Tony!” He barked, throwing clothes and shoes aside in a mad dash to pull his uniform on and _follow_ the billionaire. “Dammit.” He growled, snatching shield on his way out the door. 

“Tony!” He called again, halfway through the field when he managed to pull him back by the shoulder. “Wait in the jet, I’ll only be a minute.” 

“And let you face SHIELD’s laundry list of violation codes alone? Pass.” Steve gripped his shoulder harder, tugging him towards the jet. 

“It’s too dangerous, Tony.” But the man was just as stubborn as he was, twisting out of the firm grip for the opposite direction. “That facility’s nearly a hundred years old, not to mention the _Nazi_ scientist inside.” He admonished, following after the persistent man. 

He didn’t budge. “Then we should hurry. Double time Rogers.” Steve groaned as Tony waved him forward, leaving the soldier no choice but to follow. Working with Tony was infinitely different than the commandos. Much more stubborn and sassy where his tactical skill was lacking. 

This was a _bad_ idea, but when did Tony ever play by any rules other than his own?

Heavily armed doors greeted the team of two, but a simple push skid heavy metal across dampened concrete. SHIELD was still here -- which either meant they were still searching inside; or detaining them. Either way, Tony was right about one thing; 

They wouldn’t be happy to see them. 

He led them through the dusty corridor, the sunlight fading with each step. Soon they were engulfed in darkness -- save the soft muted glow through Tony’s shirt. He adjusted shield strappings, struggling through the void until a bright light caught the corner of his eye. Tony carefully angled the phone flashlight, providing them with just enough light to pick up the pace. 

This facility hadn’t been used in decades, no lights, no generator -- nothing. It was an empty shell, just like Zemo’s bunker. 

Hallway after hallway, each intersection paused them in their movements until Steve gave the all-clear. For someone who hadn’t been on a mission, Tony was doing well keeping up. 

Minutes felt like hours down here; there must have been dozens of corridors and hallways to explore. He gave an unnerved glance to the man beside him, hoping his coordinates had been right. Even with unexplored hallways, they had yet to run into any SHIELD agents. 

Softly, Steve spoke, voice barely echoing off empty walls. “Any chance you can scan the building?” Odds were Tony would have something to get the job done. 

And he was right on the money -- one look over told Steve he was already one step ahead, augmented glasses resting lightly on his nose. They continued straight, wary eyes searching every dim corner for an inconspicuous lever or door frame that would lead them to a covert room. 

“Left.” Tony said, following Steve’s maneuver accordingly. They continued straight, past two hallways that sent chills down the soldier’s spine -- brushing it aside for more important matters. “Right.” Tony instructed. “Stairway just ahead.” Steve began forward, turning his head when Tony scoffed. 

“What?” Steve did well to keep his voice down, regardless of the lack of agents. Tony stepped in line with the soldier, taking the first step down a floor. 

“This place is bigger than you think.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for being patient! love to hear your thoughts as always <3


	9. Chapter 9

The further they walked, the more Tony’s comment made sense. How could Hydra have enough resources for something this extensive? They were scattered, running on _fumes_ when the Howling Commandos had pursued them; just how long had this facility been under their control? 

Steve tried to tell himself it didn’t matter - Hydra was a dead organization. 

Halfway down their third flight of stairs, the entire facility _groaned,_ concrete shaking violently beneath their feet. Both men scrambled for support against the wall, exchanging concerned glances in the dim light. “We need to hurry.” Steve urged, resuming quick footwork down the old staircase as Tony hastily followed.

From the corners of his eyes, he could see Tony’s glasses illuminated with information. “The structure’s destabilizing.” Steve didn’t need a fancy pair of glasses to understand that; the splinters running concrete walls explained perfectly. “We stay much longer and we’re getting a free burial.” 

“We get Bucky, and we leave.” Steve traveled down another flight, determined to find his friend -- and not die in the process. It was another reason he didn’t like Tony down here, but like _hell_ he’d send him back now. This place was a maze -- and even with those glasses, the odds of meeting unfriendly agents were too high. 

Every step brought them closer to his best friend, closer to Zemo, closer to a _catastrophe_ if SHIELD got their hands on time tech. 

“One more flight.” Tony promised as they turned the tight stairwell corner. Shield at the ready, Steve stepped onto the landing, situating beside the exit door with an exhale. Gloved fingers curled around the handle, but Tony stopped him short, squeezing his hand. “Five agents. Two left, three right.” Eyebrows furrowed behind his helmet, straining beyond the thick metal door long enough to hear faint scuffs of boots against concrete. 

A clear sign they were in the right place. 

Quietly he nodded. “Stay out of sight.” He replied, feeling the weight of warm fingers leave his glove. Tony stepped into the opposite corner and turned off the light, leaving both in pitch black -- though Steve was sure the genius could still see through his glasses. 

With one last exhale, Steve let every nerve go, cleared his mind of all thoughts but one as he turned the knob. 

Find Bucky. 

Blinding lights trained on him immediately, squinting as he raised a hand against the glare. 

He couldn’t see, but both agents exchanged puzzled looks. “Captain Rogers?” One inquired, their guns staying drawn regardless of the non-hostile tone. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” Steve warned, the other three approaching with similar confusion. “Let me pass and we don’t have to do this.” 

Their guns were unwavering. “We can’t let you through, we’re under orders. Nobody in or out.” 

He didn’t budge, raising the shield higher. He knew all about following orders -- but this was an extremely time-sensitive mission. It was now or never. “It’s nothing personal.” Steve muttered, slamming his shield outwards into the closest agent, gun clattering aside as they tumbled backward. 

The rest unfolded in a blur. Gunshots sprayed across his shield, accomplishing nothing as Steve launched it towards the figures outlined by gunfire, narrowly escaping bullets with a quick tuck and roll. Steve counted three impacted grunts, jumping in time with the vibranium hum to clasp the rim and twist it back midair into the one still standing. All that remained when Steve’s feet hit the floor was the soft ring of vibranium on its return down the hall. 

He worked quickly, fastening his shield once caught, dull scrabbling turning his eyes towards the darkness. Cautiously Steve stepped forward until the first downed agents’ figure came in view across the floor. A gasp left them as Steve hauled them up by the arm, sternness gripping the Captain’s tone. “Help these men out of the facility. This entire structure is compromised.” The agent stammered, surely puzzled by the sharp turn of events, but Steve didn’t have the time. 

_“Go.”_ Steve pressed, pushing them forward. Only when they gripped a second agents’ arm did the soldier believe they’d taken his word, gloved fingers pulling the doorknob to motion Tony forward. “We’re running out of time.” Tony hurried through, assessing the damage as multiple agents struggled to their feet. 

“Then stop standing around.” His tone ran anxious; a clear sign they needed to move. 

Steve clasped Tony’s shoulder, breaking into a run with a faint smile curling lips. “Try to keep up.”

They were close. He knew, because each turn held more agents than the last. And each time, Steve would tighten his shield and get to work. No amount of manpower would keep him from denting their plan, and _certainly_ not from finding his friend. 

Steve welcomed the challenge. Hell, he hadn’t fought this much in two _months._ It was time that held the problem.

“Call for backup! Captain Rogers is--” The rounded shield silenced the distress call, bouncing off every last agent in its path back to Steve. 

His fist broke another’s jaw, catching the shield in time to bonk an assailant away. A third approached from behind, about to swing his shield when their dark figure fell from view, uncovering a faint blue light behind them. “Thanks.” Steve smirked, glad to see the genius applying those kickboxing moves. 

But with one subdued, two more replaced them. Even _with_ Tony’s help, there was no end in sight. At this rate, they’d _never_ get to Bucky in time. 

Just when Steve thought it couldn’t get worse, a loud rumble stalled their movements, dim flashlights aimed down the direction it had come from. A blessing in disguise maybe -- but Steve took it nonetheless, lowering his shield.

“This building is on the verge of collapse. All of you need to leave now.” His voice carried down the hallway, confident all were in earshot -- but not so much on the chance they’d take his offer. One, three, a dozen heads turned, contorting Steve’s face with a horrid dread. One brief glance told him Tony was on the same page, gritting teeth as he tightened his shield, and readied for another strike-- 

Instead, the floor came to life. 

It moved, groaned, _cracked,_ sending the team of two and every agent stumbling. Why were the tremors worsening? A building this extensive wouldn’t shake on it’s own. Debris dusted Steve’s shoulders, stress rising as a monstrous crack splintered from above. An unstable agent's flashlight flicked across the ceiling, illuminating several large chunks of ceiling dislodging from their spot.

Oh _god._

Panic gripped his chest, frantically searching for signs of a faint blue light. “Tony?!” Steve’s voice strained, stumbling into the wall as another rumble shook the earth. “Tony!” Screams filled his ears, voice drowned by the grotesque squelch of bodies. 

“Straight ahead! Here!” Eyes caught the light, nothing more important to Steve than protecting its owner. He put his serum to the test, avoiding a slab of concrete by millimeters in his mad dash for Tony. 

Their bodies met and Steve pulled him close, tucking them underneath the shield as the world around them crumbled. 

The vibranium muffled the deafening roar of the collapse, but it couldn’t deafen the distraught screams. Steve felt the heat off Tony’s face burrowed against his neck, gripping him tighter with every impact taken by his shield.

It felt like hours when silence fell. 

Steve lowered his shield, setting it aside to pull Tony back by the shoulders. He felt rigid, expression hardening as he coughed roughly into a sleeve. “You’re okay?” Steve managed, his own throat coated thick with grit. 

Eventually, Tony nodded through the coughs racking his body. “I’ll live.” Relief filled Steve’s heart, pressing gentle lips to his dirtied forehead. 

The dead silence greeting them churned Steve’s stomach. His warning had come too late; were there _any_ survivors? 

Another distant rumble scattered his thoughts, gripping Tony tightly. “Stay here. I’m going to get Bucky.” Calloused fingers curled around his wrist, halting Steve in his spot. “Tony--” He began to protest, knowing exactly what was running through the billionaire’s mind-- 

“That weapon is live.” Through those glasses, Steve was sure his confusion was visible, so Tony continued. “It’s throwing energy everywhere -- that’s what’s causing the collapse. You can’t just go _in_ there.” 

“Why not?” Steve challenged, pulling on the grip. 

But Tony held his ground, pulling back. “If you go in there, you might not come back out for another _century_.” 

Steve faltered in his struggle, finding Tony’s distressed eyes in the dim light. 

Seventy years was disorienting _enough_ \-- to do it again, be ripped from the ties he’d finally formed, leave the person who had his heart-- 

He didn’t know if he’d ever recover from that.

Carefully, Steve parted messy locks from Tony’s forehead. It didn’t feel real -- their first kiss shared only hours before, and now here he was in very real danger of losing him. 

Ever so gently, Steve sealed a kiss to Tony’s nose, dirtied helmet gently resting on his forehead. Tony breathed softly, running his fingers along the back of Steve’s neck. He was smart; Steve adored his perception, but it didn’t make this any easier.

Finally, Steve swallowed the lump in his throat. “He’s my friend.” He spoke softly. 

“I know.” The dim reactor illuminated the geniuses nod, pulling his soldier into a quick, tight hug. 

Steve held the hug as long as he could bear, hyper-aware of each passing second. “I’ll be back.” He promised, not truly convinced himself, but like hell he’d tell Tony that. Steve loosened their hug after one last squeeze, blue eyes falling on dark, beautiful ones that glazed over with emotions beyond words. He caressed that sharp, prominent jaw he adored so much in a soft, final kiss, memorizing the curves of warm lips, the almost metallic taste, the way it dragged a low, soothing rumble from Tony’s throat. Steve wanted nothing more than to help them to their feet and head home in time for a lazy cooked dinner… 

His friend needed him. Bucky would do the same for him. 

Pulling away was the toughest battle of the evening, his heart emptier when their bodies finally parted. 

“Take this.” Steve lifted his shield from the rubble, holding it out for Tony. “Keep under it, and stay safe on the way out.” Steve’s mouth went dry; he forced the words out. “If I’m not back in ten minutes, leave.” His fingers were hesitant, but Tony took the shield, flipping it to face him. 

“Fifteen.” Tony corrected, eyes lifting off the soft glow of the shield. “Even you aren’t that fast.” Steve laughed, sadness coating the softer tone as they shared a smile. Pained, worried, and hopeful these words were only a placeholder for more. Steve could only hope. 

With one last look, Steve stepped forward, carefully navigating the mountains of rubble in his path.

“Fifteen.” He agreed. No more, Stark.” 

The further Steve delved, the more he wished for a second shield. 

The splinters hadn’t been in one place, no -- Steve was sure they plagued the entire facility now. How he wasn’t underneath a slab of concrete baffled him, hoping his shield was protecting Tony from a similar fate. 

But these splinters were bigger, more complex -- which told him he was in the right place. 

What he _didn’t_ understand was the lack of SHIELD agents (or what was left of their mangled bodies). If this was the extraction point, SHIELD would have done well to put as many men on guard as possible. 

Once Steve was certain no agents loomed ahead, he pulled a flashlight off his belt, extracted from an agent who no longer needed it. Brief scans along the larger rubble left him empty. No bodies, no blood, nothing. Nerves caught up with Steve, apprehensively adjusting his grip. Something wasn’t right. 

Another rumble, this time Steve saw a faint turquoise flash. 

Gloves padded his rough impact against the wall, cresting the light over the ceiling. 

Shit. 

Steve barely rolled forward in time, _feeling_ the air shift as concrete the size of a car crumbled into oblivion. It was him versus gravity, leaping over crumbled remains, dodging falling debris, and racing for thick steel doors as the hallway behind him ceased to exist. 

No door would stop him. Shield or not, Steve parted lips in a yell and braced for impact, metal groaning in resistance as the soldier forced his way through dented steel, tumbling until his feet brought all momentum to a halt. 

Soreness locked Steve against an icy floor, small pebbles tumbling through the man-sized breach. Each cough echoed through an empty room, his discarded flashlight illuminating the far reaches of stone and concrete. Steve staggered onto clumsy feet, adrenaline urging him forward into the seemingly untouched room. How was that possible? 

“Bucky?” The words bounced off walls, sending shivers down his spine. This felt too familiar -- a deja vu Steve had no interest in reliving. 

The light caught something metal as Steve pulled the flashlight from the ground, casting its ray across a standard SHIELD firearm. 

Steve’s face paled. 

Half of it was missing. 

“Bucky!” Oh no -- no, no. Steve swept the area, pieces of machinery, uniforms, _body parts_ littering the stone-cold floor. 

Steve bolted for the next room, hopping over uneven remains and large, out of place chunks of rubble. _“Bucky!”_

Turquoise light burned his eyes, flinching backward as a deafening roar pulled at the walls. He couldn’t see, but what sounded like thousands of pounds of rubble crumbled into the floor, destroying foundation and likely bringing the ceiling down with it -- 

All noise stopped. Steve rubbed his eyes, blinking away the streaks of blue still branding his vision. 

No such rubble existed -- but two walls and a large chunk of the ceiling were missing.

Zemo’s weapon was eating the facility seconds at a time. 

Steve called again. “Bucky!” The thought of being too late twisted Steve’s gut, burned his throat, made him want to scream-- 

The next corridor pulsed gently, the soft blue glow eerily reminiscent of Tony’s core. Steve tensed, afraid it’s cooldown was near its end, but the weapon made no noise indicative of firing. He could see it through the barely standing wall, discarded, alone, without an owner to guide its trajectory.

That raised questions. 

Steve hurried past it, hoping rubble would eventually disperse the weapons’ chaos -- but too weary to attempt it himself. His flashlight ran across every corner, every inch of slab concrete floor as the area pulsed blue. Not a single inch would go uncovered before Steve assumed the worst. Bucky _had_ to be here, he _had_ to be--

The flashlight’s beam caught fingertips. He almost passed it off as another severed limb, but the pulse hugged an entire figure. It was too dark to distinguish until Steve’s light cast over the body, left arm missing and more bruises than skin. 

“Oh god.” Steve sank to his knees, sheathing his flashlight as he placed a gloved hand against their chest. Still breathing -- oh god, he was _alive._

Bucky was alive. 

The pulsing grew quicker, blue eyes worriedly looking towards the device. “I’m gonna get you out of here.” They were more for himself, carefully gathering Bucky into his arms. “Til the end of the line, pal. Isn’t that right?” 

The device hummed, the room brightening with a blinding blue. Steve grit his teeth and bolted for the double-dented doors, jaws parted in a yell as the light blinded him.

\-- 

Tony checked his watch again. _Twenty-nine minutes._

Shit. 

Dirtied fingers dragged through chocolate hair, nervously bouncing his knee atop the jet staircase, vibranium singing the vibrations back. The debris billowing out of the bunker had forced him and the SHIELD survivors further out, leaving Tony’s stomach in knots. 

He had to make it. 

Tony blew air out of his cheeks, wringing hands together as more cracks splintered across the bunkers’ surface. He was an idiot for letting Steve run head first into danger in the first place. As much as he admired his bravery, he was goddamn stubborn -- Tony hoped that hadn’t gotten him killed. 

Super soldier or not, Steve was still human.

Half an hour. 

A distant engine roar startled Tony out of his spot, not surprised in the least when his head turned to SHIELD vehicles making their exit. Maybe they were tired of waiting on survivors -- or maybe they didn’t want to get caught in the collapse. Either way, Tony couldn’t care less, his thoughts singled on waiting for a red white and blue suit. 

Five more minutes passed, gripping each side of the staircase when the ground moved beneath him. It felt like an earthquake, but Tony knew the layers of the bunker were finally losing all integrity.

And if he didn’t take off soon -- he and fifty tons of jet would be joining the earth. 

“Jarvis,” Tony’s voice cracked, sliding his glasses on. “Start up the jet.” 

Tony gripped both railing and shield, eyes watching the crumbling bunker for one last agonizing moment. 

“I advise you to move inside sir. Structural integrity is at nine percent.” 

No visible heat signatures stood at the bunkers’ entrance. 

Tony pulled himself to his feet, fingers dragging through hair while taking the first step up. “Really thought he’d make it.” The words barely formed a tone, inaudible over the roar of powerful engines. 

He felt numb. His body moved into the jet, but Tony didn’t feel it; like someone else was forcing him inside, setting the only thing left of Steve down against the wall. 

Tony white-knuckled the handle, lips quivering with the last togetherness he had. 

“Sir.” 

“Start the launch sequence.” Tony managed, beginning to close the door. 

_“Sir.”_

Tony grit his teeth, turning his head. “What?” His periphery caught colors other than trees and rubble -- colors that nearly made the genius choke. 

Red, white, and very dirty blue. 

“My god.” His legs carried him downstairs faster than he could process, bolting across the field towards the dirtied, bleeding soldier and the limp figure. 

Tony fell in line when they met halfway, hurrying along beside him. “Fifteen minutes? Obviously you can’t count.” Steve coughed roughly, a failed attempt at laughing. 

“I took a wrong turn.” 

Tony wanted to smile, still caught in the aftershock of Steve’s untimely arrival, and the one-armed punching bag in his arms. 

“Set him on the seats.” Tony instructed, urging Steve up the stairs first, locking the door tight behind. The soldier did as he was told, laying his battered friend delicately across a row of seats, using the duffle bag as a means to prop his head. “He’ll need a hospital. None of my Ph.D.’s cover time-hopping medical emergencies.” Tony called from the cockpit, sliding a hand across the wall in his walk back while the jet began to lift from the ground. 

Tony could barely see Steve’s skin color through the grime, but boy did his blue, perfect eyes speak volumes. 

“Tony--,” 

The genius didn’t let him finish, kissing him fervently. Both hands gripped dirty padded shoulders, pulling him closer with every kiss he stole. Steve wrapped strong arms around his waist, dragging a pathetic noise from Tony, who pulled away long enough to utter a single sentence.

“You _crazy_ son of a bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry for taking more than a month with this chapter! I've been preoccupied with other things. Hopefully, the next chapter will come sooner than later, but please know that I am working on it! Very slowly, very steadily. Thank you guys for reading, you're my inspiration for continuing these two's journey. <3

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! I'm looking forward to writing more of this! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought! <3


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